


A Spell of Ice and Fire

by TotallySpies3



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Dragons, F/M, Hogwarts Sixth Year, House Targaryen, M/M, White Walkers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2018-12-18 11:36:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 52,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11873550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotallySpies3/pseuds/TotallySpies3
Summary: Game of Thrones characters/ Hogwarts setting AUJon was expelled from Durmstrang for classified reasons.Transferred to Hogwarts his sixth year and the Ministry and Daily Prophet has made him out as the villain. Students are afraid of him, but Dany's determined to find out the truth. Like a true Dragon, no one can stop her until she gets what she wants.





	1. Not Bloody Likely

_September 1st, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 **Daenerys Targaryen**   **was**  nervous. Nervously _excited_ , as per usual, as how she was every year on this day for the past five years.

 

 _Here’s to year six..._  

 _The best one yet._  She promises herself, exhaling a long, shuddering sigh— reeling out the ironic contrast of anxiety and relief, now settling down in the pit of her stomach.

 

Now to an outsider, she probably looked like any other returning student, considering she was donning the traditionally expected school robes of her house. But anyone returning to Hogwarts... well, they knew she wasn’t like the rest at all.

 

She didn’t _blend_.

 

Everyone knew her- and almost everyone _avoided_ her. Especially when she was so distinctly chained to her most sinful last name.

 

Today however, she was determined to not let anything or _anyone_ bother her. Because once she saw the train, and then her friends, everything would feel much better. And her scarf much less constricting.

 

She shifts restlessly on her feet, scanning up at the list of changing destinations—thoroughly, standing impatiently alone among the people-flooded crowd of _Platform_ _9_ _and_ _3/4_.

 

Kings Cross Station had been a bit less crowded than usual today, though she wasn’t totally complaining. She mentally checked off her list of returning student boarding requirements, and having just gone through the wall and just dropped off her main luggage, she takes in another cool breath, spotting far up ahead the shiny-red and black,  _Hogwarts Express._

 

And what a beautifully familiar sight it was.

 

She weirdly loved the smoky-mildew smell, the permanent fog— the dullish, gray filter over it all... She even loved the constant echoing of conductor announcements or dispatched timeslots— which always followed with a wave of bombarding, boarding passengers. Yes, she loved all of these oddly horrible things because when it was all chaotically synchronized together... it was just, so _wonderful_. 

 

Well, everything, except the—

 

A gust of wind suddenly rips through the platform, knocking her off balance, and back into the arms of a braced stranger—

 

“Woah-“ the off-footed stranger shuffles behind her with a short chuckle— the wind still howling past them, “Sorry miss, are you alright?”

 

She scrambled herself off of the person in a huff, holding her gaze in the opposite direction, unfazed. She quickly grabs her luggage and ducks into the crowd, unadmittingly slightly embarrassed.

 

 _Yeah_ , everything was wonderful... except _that_.

 

The weather. 

 

She was careful enough to breathe slowly while outside today... as the frigid London air and its oxidized, sharp edge readied to prick her lungs. And honestly, compared to this, Diagon Alley had actually felt _warm_ earlier— surrounded by the close knit crowd of mouth-breathing shoppers.

 

But here at the station, the icy atmosphere had been ailing more bitter and unpleasant by the minute. She dips her nose down into her wrapped scarf, as she heads towards the loading area, continuing to weave in and around the sea of departing families.

 

Her cheeks were stung a rosy pink, flushed from the exposure, as she pushes through the mass of hugging adults and cloaked children. She really was growing more irrationally impatient now. And she didn’t want to reason it to being only the wind— well, the air, actually, because that would just be silly. And it’s not that it was  _cold,_  it was just...

 

 _Colder than it should be._ She hated admitting she was cold, because she wasn’t. Everyone else was.

 

She sighs longingly. _Almost there._

 

Still lugging her suitcase through the crowd, she half-stands on her toes, now able to see the thick, white smoke pooling up in the distance— gathering in a thin cloud under the arched brick ceiling of Kings Cross Station.

 

A chill runs through her body. A happy one though, as she becomes more present and aware that she’s back for another year. That she’ll be around people again. That Hogwarts was only half a day away.

 

 _Her home_.

 

And she’s ready for the day too, coolly confident in her fresh-pressed uniform, clad in the plain polo and grey sweater—neatly tucked in its matching grey skirt and stockings. The accent maroon and gold tie hanging bold over the polo, layered under her thickly wrapped maroon and gold scarf. And of course finally, her black cloak draped smooth over her shoulders, blowing gently as she strode down the platform.

 

She loved showing off her house colors on the first day, as this was her quirkiest, yet most favorite part about returning. She loved catching the first years, candidly gaping in awe at the wild greatness of the train. She loved smiling down at them, and welcoming a little more warmly, to the clearly more nervous ones, as they tilt their heads up curiously at her, wandering about, stumbling themselves eventually onto the train.

 

She knew it was a lot to take in— it was just fun to watch.

 

But what she has noticed especially, was that the goodbyes seemed to be more difficult today for everyone— and it was rather odd. Like it was sadder than usual.

 

And as she nears closer to the train, she hears distant crying... Like _little girl_ kind of crying.

 

Up ahead, she spots a small, red-faced girl, no more than seven, hiccuping to her mother in dramatic despair. The cries becoming more muffled, as she clings to her mother’s leg. Dany glances back at the girl’s boarded, older brother wave awkwardly once more from the window. 

 

_She’s probably so upset he’s leaving her._

 

Dany knows what that’s like.

 

Well sort of. But she’s also seen it too many other times to count— the goodbyes to a guardian, a sibling, a friend, and then  _poof_ , they’re gone until Christmas.

 

She feels sad for her, glancing back briefly, as she walks past them. Poor girl’s probably going to miss him so much.

 

”Mama, please, my face _hurts_.” The freckled little girl wails, burying more sobs into her mother’s coat. “Can we go now,  _please_? I’m s-so cold.”

 

 _Alright—_ so she suspects there may be another definitive reason behind the more emotionally charged atmosphere. 

 

The weather _has_  technically been getting dramatically cold here in London—by degree, not her opinion. _And quickly, seriously_ cold, and much too early. Muggles were completely oblivious to it, but the magical world’s, well, just recently actually— become just a tad bit more concerned since hitting -21 degrees Celsius two days ago. And as much as _she_ was fine right now, she was prepared for it to only get worse. It was only September, for Merlin’s sake.

 

She bumps her luggage up the steps behind her, quietly loading the train, already feeling the warm, heated air blow hot against her cheeks. She relaxes, feeling her nerves dissipate back to normal. Student quads were grinning wide in anxious conversation—though just how she remembers, retreating back as she passes through, secluded inside in their privately shadowed booths. But some hung out into the aisle too, laughing outrageously across at each other in nostalgic sincerity, too busy to notice her.

 

Her long, silver hair fell soft under the low-resolution lighting, the silk white strands woven intricately into her signature braids, as the rest hung in loose waves down her back. The curls bounce gently, as she marches past an older clique of giggling, Hufflepuff girls. She hesitates a moment, about to say hello to her friend—when they abruptly stop talking, shifting their bodies back in more towards their cabin.

 

 _Doreah_.

 

 _Why she spared that girl any friendship at one time was a true mystery._ She’d grown up into a real witch.

 

The  hummed  engine  of  the  train  chugs on  relentlessly, vibrating the floor, as she strides on down the aisle in vain, searching for  her  usual  cabin. She steers angrily around the carelessly jutted-out ankles, rolling the rest of her luggage behind her— and _yes, she already loaded her other bags with everyone else's_ , but there simply wasn't enough room for her extra essentials. 

 

_Where   is   her   cabin._

 

 _How is it possible to forget every year that it takes this long to find? The numbered express carts change daily, rotating in a systemless fashion, of course._ Because Hogwarts would _always_ tradition rules that bore no absolute attention to logic.

 

She steps begrudgingly over two pairs of Slytherin boys’, purposely, outstretched feet, not looking up to who they belonged to.

 

She knew who they were. The boys continued on in animated discussion, cackling softer after switching their focus to Dany. She keeps her eyes locked straight ahead, ignoring them— like a mature, sixth year would do. She couldn't be bothered by them today, so she rolls her clunky luggage behind her, gritting a forced smile. The boys quickly jerk their legs back before their feet get run over.

 

"Oi, watch it!" Joffrey barks, scowling to the boy next to him.

 

Ramsay pats his back smoothly, feigning sympathy. “Hey now, don’t worry, friend? It’s alright.” He chuckles, shouting after her, “Can’t wait for all the fun we’re going to have this year, Targaryen.” He promises, echoing with a flash of his snake eyes when he thinks she’s out of earshot. “Crazy dragon cunt.”

 

The words ring straight through to her core. And she pauses, squinting an eye at the sound of his voice—  _as_ _it_ _still_ , after all these years, never fails to make her entire body recoil in disgust. She rolls her eyes— right before noticing cabin #863 up ahead, bearing two moving silhouettes...

 

_Ah, yes finally! There they are._

 

Her friends were already settled in, shadows shifting quietly behind the frost-tinted glass door. She moves quickly across the aisle, dragging her bag behind her.

 

With a dramatic huff, she draws open the curtain in the above storage space, securing in the small suitcase. Then exhales in exhaustion, sliding open the cabin door in quick surprise.

 

“ _Hello_ _,_ ” she beams to them inside.

 

“Dany— hi!”

 

Missandei grins back at her brightly, dressed in a dark blue Ravenclaw sweater. Still chuckling in mid-conversation, she bumps shoulders with a shy Greyworm, “I was just telling Grey, how much I’ve _really_  missed everyone this summer... It felt so _long_.”  She sing-songs, standing up sincerely to hug her friend.  “Well, I shouldn’t say that, I definitely didnt miss...  _everyone,_ ” she snarks, pulling back to eye Dany sternly. “Joffrey and _Ramsay_... I already caught them harassing some poor first years. Already! Not that it’s really any shock.”

 

Dany squints, pulling away with a smirk. "Oh, well do I have _loads_ to tell you—“ she looks to Grey, pointing, “— _both,_ about when I saw Bolton today at Diagon Alley.” She laughs again, “His father _completely_ scolded him like a child in front of _everyone.”_ She snickers, now peering out the cabin, “It was so embarrassing— Wait, where’s Tyrion?" 

 

“No. No—” Greyworm shakes his head, voice dripping with feigned annoyance— only to smile at her mockingly. “No.” He pulls his Hufflepuff cloak hoodie over his head. “I  not  listening  to  Missandei  and  Dany  talk  gossip  entire  time  like  always." He rests his head back against the window, stoically closing both his eyes. “How about we enjoy the quiet for once.”

 

“ _Oh_ , you are just a _ray_ _of_ _sunshine_ today, aren’t you?” Missandei bubbles out a laugh. “You don’t  _have_ to sit with us, you know?”

 

She shoots Dany a familiar glance, her eyes widening in irritation. "I can’t wait to catch up,” she assures her. “And no, we have no idea where Tyrion is.” She leans back, “But yeah, if you haven’t noticed,” she hunches over, pretending to whisper, “ _Our_ _friend’s_ _a little grumpy today_.”

 

”—You  both  send  me  twenty-two letters this summer. Each.” Greyworm bites, his eyes still remaining quietly closed. “That is twice amount as last year. There is nothing left to talk about.”

 

”Wow. Nice to see you too, Grey,” Dany quips, as his lips twitch a sly smirk, one eye peeking back at her fondly.

 

•

 

The buzzing sound of reuniting students scuttle past their cabin in a rushed blur. She straightens her posture and faces out towards the window, staring longingly out at the massive crowd. Watching all of the departing families finish their final bittersweet goodbyes, smothering their last tight hugs, however only temporarily sustaining for their childrens’ long farewells. She bites her lip softly, frowning at her own _bitter_ -sweet goodbye memory; or more rather, the empty space of a figure who used to be there.

 

 •

 

In the midst of a budding day dream, she flinches—  startled  by  the  sudden, _blaring_  roar of the Hogwarts Express steam engine, signaling its ready departure. Her stomach flutters at the grinding sound of clanky metal wheels beginning to turn, slowly hitching itself forward on the iron rails. Her mood instantly lifting in giddy anticipation, as Missandei glows back at her, the both of them then turning to watch the platform slowly disappear down the tracks.

 

•

 

Eager to seek out some old faces and the new comers, Dany opens up the cabin door, first leaning in to the two of them.

 

"Do either of you want anything else from the trolley when it comes by?" Her voice stiffens, now trailing in irritation, "—Or if _Tyrion,_ ever even makes it back to us by nightfall.”

 

She glances out the window, scanning over the sky-blurred blend of pink, red and lavender. It was sunset, so she knew they had to be almost there.

 

“Coming through,” a small deep voice warns with a knock on cue, and she lunges back in short surprise, to Tyrion pushing through her and the doorway, stumbling into the cabin.

 

"Already  scoping  out  the  fresh  meat  I see,  Dany?"  He bumps through with a grin, sliding the door closed with his shoulder.

 

She squints at him teasing, "I was just wondering where you went," now waving a hand out at him accusingly. She eyes him up in shocked amusement, as he unloads onto the booth an entire armful of treats from his Ravenclaw robes. "Though  I  can see  you've  obviously  found  your  way," she smirks, reaching over to sort through the pile.

 

"I always find my way, you should know that by now?" He empties out some more from his sleeve.

 

She digs through the crinkling wrappers before finally pulling out a milk Chocolate Frog box with a grin. "Well, I thought you were summoning her _over_... not raiding the whole lot for us?" she giggles, stashing another Peppermint Toad in her pocket for later. "But this works."

 

"Dany. My father gives me money. If I didn't spend it on _important_ things like Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, what good use would it be?" He raises a brow, tossing a second chocolate frog to Missandei with a grateful nod, as she nudges a sleepy Greyworm awake.

 

Dany flits her eyes back from Greyworm sitting up to Missandei waiting with her frog, and then clears her throat. Hiding back a small smile, she bites her lip, as the four of them raise their tiny enchanted boxes in the air.

 

" _Ahem_."

 

"To _tradition,_ " she starts, announcing with pretend poise. 

 

She carefully opens her box, holding the squirming frog down between her fingertips and the cardboard. "We, my friends, met here in this very cabin, our _very_ first year. And by fate, we shared these here, chocolate frogs—" Missandei giggles at Dany's stone-serious face, "And may this, our sixth year at _Hogwart's_ _School_ _of_ _Witchcraft_ _and_ _Wizardry_ , bring us the most _epic_ and daring adventures yet to come—"

 

" _And  may  our_ houses _never  tear  us  apart_." Missandei adds with fervor.

 

Tyrion, her and Greyworm nod back, simultaneously stuffing their mouths with their frogs, as well as its symbolized promise. But the two girls can't help but break composure, suddenly bursting into a fit of laughter—Missandei straining politely to cover her mouth, slurping back in a squiggling frog leg.

 

Tyrion rolls his eyes at them flatly, as him and Greyworm chew theirs unceremoniously, shaking their heads in unison. “Well, that was truly moving, Daenerys," Tyrion says dryly. "I hope our adventures of endless homework and essays live up to your expectations."

 

Dany scoffs. "Oh of  _course_... And don't forget about the Quidditch matches? I _am_ team Captain this year, you never know what could hap—eh-uhg—"

 

 

       She flies forward _—_

 

In a split second, Dany and Tyrion are _launched_ across the cabin—her, flying right past Missandei, and him, straight into Greyworm. She coughs out, thudding right _smack_ into the wall. She cradles her ribs, sinking powerless to the cold floor in paralyzed pain. Her lungs contract in a spasm, temporarily unavailable from the blunt trauma of collision—the wind, being brutally knocked out of her.

 

And the wind _outside,_ roars.

 

Her chest, slowly beginning to fill with air again, contracts to relax as the entire train plummets forward— the breaks screaming to a screeching halt.

 

Yellow and silver sparks fly up outside their window pane like reversed rainfall— and the iron wheels, sear loud against metal, scraping harsh against the tracks.

 

_Did they crash? Were they crashing?_

 

Was it a threat— a   _person_?

 

Instinctually, the four of them had whipped out their wands, now holding on to each other desperately— mirroring similar, panicked expressions. Dany calls out, her voice now less of an empty shell, gripping a hold onto the seat cushion, pushing herself strong against the crushing gravity. Her adrenaline kicking in.

 

"What's...  _happening_?!"

 

She glares back at Missandei wide eyed, as a few first year girls scream in high-pitched terror a couple cabins down from them.

 

And then,  there   it   was,  the startling sound of a fire-blasted wind, brutally plowing open a new door from the _outside—_ sending her heart into a stuttering panic.

 

_What was that? Where were they even?_

 

_It’s so foggy all of a sudden, she could barely see out the window anymore? And even worse, it was dark now._

 

 _Hopefully, they were close to Hogwarts—_ A suddenly sensed recognition of a sound startles her thoughts _._

 

 _Wait— what_ is _that—_

 

She could now hear the— the sound of fast singing air, rushing in cold, sucked in through the hinge-dangling door, the outside bolts rattling in its frame— no doubt close to their cabin.

 

And she knew the sound wasn't just an accident, and that it wasn't just _hazard_ from the terrible weather they've been having _._  But  that  some thing _, a being,_ had  blown  open  that  door.

 

And that _thing_ , was now on board with them. She could feel it burning in her chest.

 

_A monster._

 

 

•

 

 

The train finally slowed down, falling steady to a complete standstill; and then with a sharp jerk, it  cuts  short  to  a  final— full,   _dead,_   stop.

 

_Though she could swear that she felt suddenly... as if they were... swaying._

 

_Rocking?_

 

Missandei collapses forward onto her knees with the pull of the short stop, panting hard in sharp attention. A fizzing,  _zap buzzes_  hot above their heads, shaky bulbs dimming in and out of their ceiling sockets _._  The flourescent lights start to tap out, flickering off down the train, as more panicked student screams begin to drown out the howling, heavy wind. And worse, the outside darkness was now swallowing the train whole— leaving its passengers to shiver in silence.

 

Crouched on the carpet floor next to Greyworm, Dany notices a strange crystalline dust rapidly beginning to fog up their window to a sleet of pure white frost— and then a sudden windchill mist, starts to seep its way in through the cracks...

 

Tyrion carefully kneels up to the window, wanting  to  peek  a  glance  outside, but yelps back in shock, as the newly frosting glass cracks icily beneath his hand.

 

" _Tyrion_ _get_ _back_. Be quiet."

 

“Dany.” He squeezes his eyes shut in terror.

 

She glances back at him fiercely, eyeing him the question  _what_.

 

“ _We’re on the fucking bridge_.”

 

Oh... 

 

 _Shit_. Of course this would happen.

 

 _Of_ _course_ they ended up on the rickety old, tower bridge. Its _rickety_ wooden planks, probably stressing to snap at this very moment, boarded sky high above the rocky sea cliffs of Scotland. It was the bridge they crossed every year, yet no one really understood the reason for it when it’s so poorly constructed. Again, Hogwarts and it’s weird ignorance of logic.

 

But that would explain the swaying. Okay. No. They’re fine. She closes her eyes.

 

They’re fine.

 

But Tyrion’s not. “We’re not going at a stable _speed_ — to keep the weight balanced? If the bridge doesn’t collapse, we’re going to tip over.” 

 

“Shhh.” Dany hushes him, scooting back further away from the cabin door and window, pulling him back down with her.

 

“It’s okay. We’re going to be okay.”

 

She catches a glimpse of something through a corner of the foggy glass— a hallow trail of shadowy figures coming to drift inside the train. Floating inside through the ripped-open door, echoing a new, harrowing sound in their path— making her blood run cold.

 

The wind cuts around them, beginning to sting her skin, violently rippling a current in and around the train, pushing it to rock and sway more. 

 

 _A lot_ more.

 

And this time everyone noticed— clearly, as the screams, now started to sound a lot like crying.

 

Inside, the black shadows swam nearer, and for a second, she could have sworn through the glass that they hesitated at their door—for just a brief moment, before drifting back on further down the aisle. Her chin falls to her chest, oddly relaxed in relief. 

 

Though  only  for  a  moment.

 

Suddenly she felt something— Something inside her mind... something that she had never felt before. Like a new voice had awoken inside her, calling her. 

 

 _Drogon?_  

 

Had he finally come back home? Back to her? She truly wished for that more than anything.

 

But this... this didn’t feel like Drogon. No... this was stronger. Only just less clear, and more muddled.

 

Her eyes widen further upon hearing a strangled cry, shout out down the aisle in low, familiar terror.

 

 _She felt an odd sensation in her chest_ , like something was pulling her. Not physically, but merely a lightly tugged thought, focusing her in towards that low, familiar voice. One that she couldn't quite particularly place. 

 

 _Get_   _it_   _off._ The voice spins slowly through her skull.   _I  will  not  die  like  this._

 

It was a boy’s voice. Soft. 

 

Determined. 

 

Suddenly she felt tired. Tired— and really, really, terribly sad. In fact she felt so tired and sad even, she was certain she’d possibly never have the strength to laugh ever again.

 

And  then  in  a  washed  wave  of  blue light— a sudden blast of brightly channeled energy, exploding like a gust of blue-wind outside their door, knocks her back against Tyrion, just by the shock force alone. 

 

An older wizard's voice bellows again out from down the aisle, " _Expecto Patronum!_ "

 

•

 

The four of them remain clenched onto each other, still shaken and torn, cold with sweat. Missandei gasps in relieved surprise, as the lights suddenly flicker back on. The train seemed to be trying to fix itself, it’s mile long body lifting slightly, hovering gently in the air. Protecting itself, as its wheels re-lock strong and stable into place.

 

”Is it over?” Missandei whispers.

 

Dany thinks it to be so, as the hauntingly, sharp chill had now almost completely faded. The new heat bringing the train back to life.

 

”I think so,” Dany says, judging a look over at the defrosting window.

 

Surely the adults must have killed what had clawed its way onto the train. She could hear the magic repairing the broken glass. Sealing the shredded steel.

 

They all cautiously let go of each other, awaiting some kind of an authoritative direction, though still sharing nervously-puzzled expressions.

 

A few moments later, and the train suddenly clicks forward into place, hitching itself back correctly onto the tracks, and then gradually begins move again, speeding back up on its scheduled path, on land. And through the uncertain mist, a different man's voice, more wise and weathered, calls out calmly for their attention from outside their door. 

 

"Everything is alright, children," he announces serenely. Voice echoing down the train in an enchanted loudspeaker.

 

“There is no further need to panic, as there was no real _danger_ anyone was in, just a small technical error...” he assures them all, “But everything has been fixed, and everything has been handled.”

 

 _Dumbledore_. Always had such an odd way of prioritizing danger.

 

"So, I am here now to advise you to simply remain in your seats, keep your cabin doors  _closed..._ and we should be arriving at Hogwarts Castle shortly."

 

Still on the floor, Tyrion gawks quietly at the three of them, “A _technical_ error?” he mocks.

 

Greyworm frowns. “What does that mean?”

 

"It _means_ that he’s claiming it’s the train’s fault... No dark magic involved,” he puffs out a breath, “But yeah, uhm, not bloody likely."

 

Grey’s face contorts back in thought, still confused. “What?”

 

"Well, those were obviously _dementors_.” Tyrion laughs, “I mean, _how_ many times have we read about them in class? Does he really think that we wouldn't have... _noticed_ them? Or that nobody would talk to each other about what they saw? We all go to the same school—“

 

“Well if that were true,” Dany furrows her brow at him, though she did have to agree. "Then what reason would they have to possibly be on _our_ train for? Aren’t they only supposed to be guarding the prisoners in _Azkaban_?"

 

She was definitely not bringing up the part about her ‘hearing voices’, right now either. More likely, if she _ever_ tells anyone about that bizarre experience, she was probably slipped some Veritaserum. Naturally acquired legilimency leads to madness. Everyone knew that. She would never mention that to anyone, ever.

 

"Hmm, dementors out of Azkaban," he blinks back a pair of wary eyes. "Well, that's the better question, I’m afraid. Either someone’s escaped or—"

 

“No,” unsatisfied, she huffs at him, "I think there was something else.“ She nods suspiciously, “Yes. Something dangerous came on board. But not a person. A _thing_." She crouches down to carefully crawl over towards the door.

 

Tyrion giggles, “A _thing?_ Dementors don't go after _beasts_ , Dany. Only psychotic inmate murderers...”

 

Dany slips her fingers to the edge of the door, just to slowly slide it open, just a smidge. Missandei reacts fast, reaching for her arm. “No stop—" she inhales sharply. Dany shrugs her off.

 

" _Dany_? Dumbledore said to keep the cabin doors _closed_. We're not allowed to open them."

 

Ignoring her completely, she was already stealthily peeking out into the hall. "No, actually he _advised_ us, so it’s not...” She squints, trailing off, trying to catch a glimpse down the empty aisle. Then she stops, in rigid recognition. 

 

_What if the monster’s still on the train?_

 

_Or worse, what if it’s—_

 

_That boy._

 

Her lips curve downwards subtly, as the blood oily drains from her face, slowly processing the sight before her. Quietly holding her breath, her eyes fixate on the collapsed boy with soft dark hair, laying limp on the ground.

 

_What—_

 

She narrows her eyes, softly confused. 

 

_That can’t be a monster... he’s so..._

 

_He’s... just a boy— just an innocent, sad looking boy?_

 

 _But who is_ he—

 

 _Or who,_ was— _he..._ she thinks guiltily. Was.

 

Was he dead or just knocked out? If that’s the same boy, and she _knew_ it was— his thoughts sounded like he was suffering the dementor’s true kiss.

 

And it felt like it too.

 

Wow, she really was insane.

 

Grim, aiding professors hover over the boy in an attentive circle around him, blocking the rest of her vision. 

 

She turns to Tyrion solemnly, “It’s... it’s a boy. Here. Can you tell who it is? ...I think, that he’s  dead.” She slides back, making room for him to see for himself.

 

Unsure of the situation, he peers over at a nodding Greyworm, and then in contrast, at a frowning Missandei. And though still skeptical himself, he leans his face forward anyway, peeking out through the slightly open crack.

 

She sighs a few moments later, impatiently waiting, as he still observes the scene. She thinks for a moment, remembering something her uncle Illyrio had told her before she left. About an expelled transfer student. 

 

Oh! 

 

Of course? That’s it! It has to be him!

 

_The one everyone’s been talking about. The one everyone is afraid of._

 

“Well? Who is it? Do you know him?" She pesters.

 

 _Though wouldn’t he have been on board with them when they left? And worse, she couldn’t even imagine then what_ else could have broken in to a _moving train_ then?

 

"One second, Daenerys,” Tyrion chides. 

 

Then suddenly, he sucks in a breath, gaping, "Oh  wait  a - _Merlin_ , that can’t be? _Hmm_ _—_ " He carefully pulls back in short realization, quietly closing the door with him.

 

"Well, he was definitely attacked by a dementor, they were feeding him chocolate.” He distracts her comedically, his dark tone lightening, “But he _was_ sitting up, so I  don’t  think  that  he's  dead,  Dany. Though he did look dreadful..."

 

She purses her lips sharply. "I'm serious, Tyrion. Who is it?” She presses, “ _I know that you know_. I can tell when you know something.”

 

“Oh, so clever.” His eyes first dart over suspiciously towards the door; before he glances back at her, nodding. “Okay,” he takes a breath, leaning in, "Okay... so I'm almost certain, that that's  _Jon Snow_." He whispers secretly, "The transfer boy, the one that’s been in the _Prophet_." Dany’s eyes light up curiously.

 

 _It is him_.

 

“Jon...  _Snow_?" she prompts, innocently enough, just record for more information.

 

Missandei scowls at them. "Wait—  _The_   Jon Snow?" she questions rigidly. "My father told me all about him… He told me to stay away from him. He said he's dangerous.”

 

”No, I don’t think so.” Dany bites her lip.

 

Missandei eyes her cynically, "You don’t even _know_ him? What do you mean... you don’t,  _think_ so?”

 

”I have heard of him actually. Now that I think about it...” she hums, “And he doesn’t seem like a murderer.”

 

“Uhm, Dany, haven’t you seen the papers? They say his parents were both  _muggles_ … And that he was _expelled_ from _Durmstrang,_ for classified reasons. All coincidentally _right_ _after_ all those students were killed."

 

"Why move the boy to _new_ school if he is so dangerous?" Greyworm asks flatly.

 

" _Exactly._ I don't know. Why _would_ they send him here?" She flashes him a fake smile not quite reaching her eyes. "I mean, to  actually  allow  him  to   _finish_   his academic  career,  at   _Hogwarts_... it's mad."

 

_She could be so ignorant sometimes._

 

"Wow... And what does him being _muggleborn_ have to do with him getting expelled?" 

 

“Is that all you got from that?” Missandei scans her thoughtfully. "That’s not what I meant, you know that. I was just repeating from what I saw in the papers and what my father told me. He just thinks that the boy must have seriously endangered the lives of the students to have gotten expelled like that. Possibly even had a hand in it—"

 

”No, I don’t believe it.” Dany sniffs, “No one has enough information. It’s all speculation.” 

 

“Then there’s a lot of speculation from a lot of reliable sources Dany, if you bothered to check it out. And you know what’s even worse—" her voice lowers darkly, "Some people say he really did  _kill_ his parents..."

 

Dany snorts sadly. "He was a child _._ How could you say that?"

 

Tyrion rolls his eyes. “You seem to know a lot about this Jon  _Snow_ , Dany.”

 

She didn’t actually, that was the problem.

 

" _I'm_ not saying that.” Missandei defends, ignoring Tyrion, “All I’m saying, is that it’s not a crime to be cautious. I mean, don’t you know who the last wizard to be expelled from Durmstrang was?"

 

The properly postured Ravenclaw exhales a small frustrated sigh, “Okay well...” directing it at their cluelessly innocent shrugs. “Here’s  a hint, it was _sixteen_  years ago..."

 

Tyrion bows his head in realization then whispers faintly, " _Gellert Grindelwald."_

 

Dany crosses her arms. "Well that's two unrelated things…” she argues flatly.

 

”It’s all in the The Prophet, Dany. The two seem all too similar to be a coincidence.” Missandei shrugs pointedly.

 

“Exactly.” Dany twists her mouth in thought, staring severely out the window. “Well, I stopped believing in  _the papers_ a long time ago, ever since they sent my father to Azkaban." 

 

Tyrion chokes out a laugh, "Oh,  _did you really now?”_ He scrunches his nose sarcastically, _“Only since then?_ " 

 

Greyworm smirks at him.

 

"So you mean you've  _never_  believed in them,” Tyrion chuckles. “I mean, considering you couldn't even _read_  yet, at the time that had happened...” he gestures, “you know, when you were a newborn baby."

 

She turns determined, eyeing him coldly, "I’m not joking, Tyrion. I want to find out the truth.”

 

He groans languidly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ohhh no. Nope,  _no_.”

 

She scowls back at him, ”What...” 

 

“It’s too early for this— Dany, please. I mean, we haven't even gotten to school yet?" He shoves a handful of jellybeans into his mouth, "You know I like to get settled in—“ he cringes, puckering at the flavor, “before you, you know, _drag_ _us_ along into one of your... you know, _causes_." 

 

A storm of ideas had already begun flooding her mind minutes ago, propelled exponentially by her need to be right. She glares out the window, pondering the possibilities.

 

Tyrion examines her telling expression. Squinting at her slowly. “Oh, what now?”

 

"Nothing?" She beams quietly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

"Daenerys. Let me just tell you what I know for sure—“ he warns, “If there's   _any_  kind of correlation between Jon Snow, and those soul-sucking dementors... which, there definitely is...” he looks her square in the eyes.

 

“Then the truth is something, I  don't  think  you  want  to  know."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 


	2. Merlin's Beard, Is That A Direwolf?

_September 1st, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 **Jon Snow** **awaits** nervously, fidgeting in his torn clothes, shifting  in  his  seat.

 

He closes his eyes, waiting anxiously across from the giant oakwood desk— Dumbledore’s desk, wondering when the headmaster was coming back to him and his empty office. 

 

Dumbledore. What a different man he was compared to his old headmaster. Both wise and quietly powerful, but still... he was different. Weirder maybe?

 

Why this all was happening to him, Jon still wasn’t sure. 

 

_What were they saying about him right now?_

 

He scans the room, quietly admiring all of the luxuries and gloriously moving paintings. Paintings that completely surface-decorated the curving, sky high walls. His eye now catching the beautiful, red-feathered Phoenix, perched peacefully on an iron rack of keys. He stares at it, feeling magnetically drawn into the firebird's kind eyes as they meet his own, watching him gently.

 

 

Then quickly, with the sound of ascending rock, he takes a deep breath upon Dumbledore finally returning, stepping out from his main eagle elevating entrance. The brown haired, newly graying man greets him with a warm smile.

 

"Oh, I didn’t realize you were already— Welcome again, Jon Snow, I'm sorry I took so long. I do apologize for keeping you waiting." He walks past the firebird, scritching his crimson feathers. “Hello, my Fawkes.”

 

Dumbledore touches over his own chin, "So let’s see, Mr. Snow...” he sighs, holding together a file folder, “Mr. Snow... Mr. Snow... Mr.  _Jon_ Snow..." he whisper-hums, "I must say I've heard so much about you."

 

_Funny..._

 

Jon stares back at the man with uncertain awe, frowning slightly at his choice of words. 

 

The tall professor gleefully dismisses his worry, "Ah, good things though, all good things..." he smiles softly.

 

He strides back behind his desk, and then sighs again, sympathetically observing Jon’s still rigidly-anxious body language. He sits down across from him carefully.

 

The wooden legs of his grand chair creak, as he leans forward on the fragile frame. "I want you to know, Jon, that you are _safe_  here, at Hogwarts,” he murmurs, “Rest assured, you can relax now? You are protected here. Is that clear?"

 

Jon nods subtly, but then flinches, startled by the sudden clap of the professor’s hands, now standing up, "So! Let's get started then, shall we? This part should go rather quickly— Just a, short, house sorting is all.”

 

He strides over to an old dusty shelf, picking up some kind of a grey, leather-torn hat, and then carries it over to Jon. He watches the headmaster carefully, now realizing.

 

No...

 

He frowns in familiarity, as the odd, older man places it on his head. “Here we go.”

 

He hated the way schools did this. Forcing him into a category of students, based on family. _Based on blood._  

 

Expectantly, a sly, raspy voice slowly animates above his forehead, " _Well... well well, what do we have here?"_

 

The hat’s worn, grey skin wrinkles down in attitude, the fabric creases somewhat forming a mouth and a pair of unsettling expressive ‘eyes’. 

 

"Ah, let’s see now.” It lectures, “Wow... do we have— another _wolf_ now, it seems? Hmm. Or no, wait...  _No?”_

 

_What... did it just call him?_

 

 _A_ wolf _?_

 

“That's not quite all you are, now is it?” the hat laughs softly, “Wow...  _take a look at that ancestry._.."

 

Jon strains up his vision up at the blurred, dark brim of the hat skeptically.

 

 _Was it actually_ laughing _at him?_ _At his family?_

 

_His parents were nobodies,_

_they were nothing—_

 

 _He_   _came_   from  nothing— he knew that. He didn’t need _a_ _hat_  telling him again.

 

“Jon Snow," the scratchy voice lulls cheekily, "The sheer  _power_  in your blood, it is _intimidating, I must tell you."_

 

He squints up at the hat confused, "My parents were _muggles,_ sir," he bites back, mumbling under his breath, "obviously."

 

“Oh, how that must all seem, Mr. Snow!"

 

It wrinkles down condescendingly, "I can see that there is still a great _nothing_  of what you have yet to understand, my dear boy."

 

He huffs silently, grimacing in strict denial.

 

_Nothing... he knows nothing.  Shut up._

 

It pauses now, thinking measurably. " _Hmmmm,_ I  wonder though... _where to place you?_ You are a bit _complicated_ I'm afraid..." it admits. "Your mind is terribly stubborn."

 

He frowns, shutting his eyes in anticipation, as the hat builds up momentum, finally shouting out,

"Ah- _ha_!   I  know." 

 

“ _Well then_...  

          Must be—  

_Gryffindor_!"

 

Dumbledore grins quietly. "Oh,  wonderful, well  done, Jon," he congratulates, shaking a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

 

He lifts the deflating hat off of his head, as Jon broods in silent, furious, confusion. "Sir, I don't mean to be rude, but there is something seriously wrong with your hat."

 

The headmaster chuckles loud, nodding, "Oh, well you know, Jon—actually, believe it or not, that _hat_  was recently tested this past month— and it was marked to still be in sane condition.” Jon looks back at it, as he continues, “It’s not always a pleasure to interact with, albeit yes, but it is...  _sane_." He smirks, glancing wistfully across the room, "...The Sorting Hat— or rather, what do you call yours in Norway? Uhm...  _den delte_ _pelshatten? Oh—_ by the way, I must complement your English, Jon _._ It's flawless, I don't even hear an accent. _"_

 

The corner of Jon's lips lift at his attempted pronunciation. "Thank you sir, but English was actually my first language. I grew up in London. I never knew why I was enrolled into Durmstrang... It's much farther away than here."

 

Dumbledore's kind eyes melt, his stature, relaxing in acceptance. "Yes, much farther away." He poses, "But I think you had some watchful eyes for you over there, which is good. Because as the school may have been the best suit for your talents, it really is quite a dangerous place." 

 

 _Watchful_ _eyes_. He had no idea what that meant, but he smiles anyway, definitely agreeing with the dangerous part. "Yeah... Maybe." 

 

"I also must say— don't overthink the hat's nonsense. He doesn't get to talk very often... so when it gets the chance..." he trails off, picking a set of rusty keys off of the iron rack. 

 

"Oh. Right, I understand." Jon thanks him, standing up from his scheduled seat, as Dumbledore motions for him to follow him. Though for some reason, he’s not fully convinced by the professor's words. 

 

"Right, well, anyway. Come along. I'll have your belongings delivered to your chambers."

 

•

 

Jon follows close behind him down the corridors, ignoring all of the judging, awful looks from nosy, gossiping students.

 

He strides past a group of students, one of them striking his attention being an imp, who was currently being berated and smacked in the arm by a girl.

 

_A beautiful girl._

 

 _A Veela?_   _Wait_ — that’s the same girl from the train station...

 

The _same one_  actually, who’d rudely bumped into him on the platform... and _then_ — didn’t even have the decency to  _acknowledge_  him afterwards, when _he_ , for some unknown reason, apologizedto _her._

 

 _The wind was really loud, he had told himself,_ yeah _... so she probably just, didn’t hear him._

 

Surely she must have Veela blood in her though? He was sure of it.

Because, she had the iconic, strikingly ethereal features... the _silver hair..._ _and_ most especially, he could feel the tell-tale sign. That he could actually feel himself being _physically drawn to her_. Like he was nearly walking backwards, still staring, okay, wow, yeah he needed to st—

 

Then intuitively, or coincidentally more likely, she turns her head, glancing right at him. Dead eyes... widening in slow shock upon processing the sight of him, now somewhat curious.

 

And for a fraction of that second, they make locked eye contact— when Dumbledore suddenly stops in his tracks— and Jon almost plunders right into him.

 

Now, suddenly standing tall in front of him was a broad-shouldered, masculinely built, _ugly_ witch. She beams down at him with her cropped blonde hair and smiles warmly, "Here we are."

 

Dumbledore greets her with soft delight, "Ah, good afternoon, Ms. Tarth." He gestures to Jon, "Mr. Snow, this is Brienne. She is the Gryffindor Head Girl."

 

”Nice to meet you.” Jon mumbles, partially unsure.

 

"She will take you to the Gryffindor Tower, where Mr. Lannister, the Head Boy, will then lead you to your chambers."

 

He clasps his hands together, motioning to her, "Alright, Brienne?" He pats Jon's shoulder softly, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Jon Snow. I will see you at the feast."

 

Brienne nods dutifully, as Dumbledore glides away, allowing her to escort Jon.

 

"Interesting man, isn't he?" she beams, leading Jon to follow her. "Greatest wizard who ever lived, you know."

 

He smiles back shyly, as she chuckles fondly at a memory, "So I remember, when I was first sorted...” she says, wistfully.

 

”It was in front of everyone. And I  was bloody terrified, you have no idea. But I have to tell you Jon, you're lucky," she whispers, turning her head with a smirk, "because this is the   _best_   house  in all of Hogwarts." 

 

She claps his back, shaking his shoulder, "You will find a wonderful group of friends here, I'm sure of it."

 

 _Yeah uhm, has she_ seen _the way people stare at him?  Who wants to befriend a murderer?_

 

He musters her a small, half-smile back though, truly appreciating her genuine kindness. He clearly doesn't get much of that anymore.

 

Catching sight of the honey golden-haired wizard, Brienne shouts down the hall, her long strides quickening, "Jaime! Jaime, come help this boy, please— He needs to be shown to his chambers." Jon hurries behind her as they swiftly catch up to the Head Boy.

 

Brienne introduces them to each other, and then she grabs Jon's hand, shaking it thoroughly. "It was an honor meeting you, Jon Snow."

 

He smiles at her again and nods gently, amused by her straightforwardness.

 

Jaime steers her away, feigning a flirtatious voice, " _Alright_. Goodbye, Brienne... Save me a seat at the feast," he winks.

 

She rolls her eyes at him dramatically. “Shut up,” she tells him, as he guides her away in the other direction, striding off with a smirk. 

 

Jon takes it back calling her ugly. He doesn't know why he first thought that, she doesn't seem ugly at all anymore.

 

The charming Head Boy then squares up with Jon. "Okay then, Mr. Snow. Follow me!" He orders with a grin, "We've got to catch the stairs— hope you're not afraid of heights."

 

 

•

 

 

They travel lengthily across courts. Up and down the changing staircases, even passing by a huddled group of snickering, Slytherin boys, eyeing Jon in a disturbingly malicious manner. Jaime lazily tells them off.

 

Then finally, they reach the Fat Lady painting.

 

She arches an eyebrow at Jaime expectantly, as he points to the canvas, "This Jon, is the Fat Lady."

 

He pretends to whisper in his ear, "You'll have to excuse her singing though, she's bloody terrible," he flashes her a dazzling smile.

 

The Fat Lady scoffs in betrayal, bellowing, "You know, if it weren't for this new student, I would refuse to let you in, Mr. Lannister!"

 

Jaime throws his head back, "Oh come on," he smirks knowingly, "You know that I _love_ your voice! It has the soul... of an angel," he proclaims with pride.

 

She squints back at him skeptically... Then grumbles low and defiant, "Mhm hmm...  _Password?_ "

 

Jaime nods turning to Jon informing, "So. Then you simply say the password of the week, which this week's is... Pineapple Pudding. And   _then—_ " He waves a hand out to her, wiggling his eyebrows as her cue.

 

He sighs impatiently as she hums, looking up and away from him. "And then...  _hopefully_  she will _open_ the door for you. If she’s in a cheerful mood." He  taps  his  foot, clearing his throat in reminder, "Because that is her  _job_. In case she has forgotten.”

 

The Fat Lady finally bites her tongue, "Alright. Alright. Don’t get your bloomers in a bunch."

 

She gestures out an open arm, echoing in an off-key high note— welcoming them, as the canvas audibly unlocks, swinging open majestically as an enormous door.

 

Jon beams at the ingenious of the situation, then falls silent, slowing his steps in complete awe— at what is the sight of the _spectacular_ , Gryffindor  common  room.

•

Jaime leaves him to organize his things in his room after explaining the rest of the rules. "Well. Good meeting you Jon Snow, I hope I've answered all of your questions... and if not, just  ask  your  roommates."

 

Watching him leave, Jon cautiously enters his room. He glances over shyly, hearing his three roommates laughing loudly over by the windowsill.

 

They suddenly become quiet, now aware of his presence and a wave of awkwardness thickens the tension of the room.

 

A chubby boy steps up from the trio and shuffles over nervously to Jon. With a deep breath, he introduces himself cheerfully, "Hello! I'm... Samwell Tarly. You can call me Sam." He holds out a sweaty palm.

 

Jon half-smiles back, shaking his hand. "Hi."

 

Sam points over to the other two boys who were cautiously observing the scene in the background. "And this is Gendry... And that's Tormund."

 

Jon smiles politely. "Nice to meet you all. I'm Jon. Jon... Snow." 

 

Falling silent again, they smile back at him nervously. "Mhm. Hmm." Sam hums.

 

" _Jon Snow_? Like the one in _The Daily Prophet_?" Gendry asks innocently walking over— making a guttural sound when Sam elbows him in warning. 

 

Jon twists his mouth into a resentful pout, knowing that this was coming. "Yes, like the one in _The Prophet_."

 

•

 

He continues unpacking his things, as the other boys chat quietly back over by the windowsill. Occasionally they sneak a glance over at him while he broods by his bed, shuffling around his clothes and belongings. And his back to the mattress, he goes to dig again in his suitcase, when suddenly a loud puppy yawn whines behind him.

 

He spins around, feeling a much-needed sense of hope _. Could it be?_

 

The beautiful, gigantic albino wolf-puppy creeps out cautiously from underneath Jon's bed.

 

He kneels forward, beaming wide at the red-eyed pup. “Ghost!" he chuckles short in amusement. " _When  did  you  get  here_?" He hugs him, ruffling his fluffy white fur.

 

Ghost squeals back in excitement and Jon grins into his fur. "I'm _sorry,_  sleepy, I didn't know you were under there?"

 

The other boys' mouths all go agape, blinking back at their new roommate... and his enormous pet. “ _Merlin’s beard_ ,” Sam cries out, striding over to him. "... is that a Direwolf?!"

 

“Uh, yeah...” Jon half smiles.

 

Sam chuckles in wild disbelief, "We're not even allowed a bloody dog! Let alone to have a—  _Wait,  how  long  has  he  been  under  there?_ " He stutters, beckoning over the other boys with a quick wave.

 

”No idea.” Jon shrugs.

 

"What in the seven’s hell are you gonna do with him though?!” Sam cries. “What  about  when  he  gets   _bigger_?"

 

Jon chuckles lightly, then shrugs again. "Dunno. Keep him outside maybe, with the game keeper. Ghost doesn't mind the cold." He scratches behind the pup's ear— his fluffy tail thudding happily against the floorboards.

 

Tormund creeps out from behind Gendry, his cheeks forming a small child-like grin, as he impulsively reaches over to Ghost. He hesitates, glancing up at Jon first in permission, his hand hovering over Ghost’s soft fur.

 

"Go ahead."

 

Tormund pats Ghost's head— then smiles back proudly at the other two boys. Gendry shakes his head at him. "Oh yeah, you're so _brave—_ "

 

The animal suddenly bows his head at him, growling protectively— sending Gendry wide eyed, snapping his mouth shut, frozen in fear. “Yeah. Not as brave as you, princess," Tormund grins, chuckling upon Ghost intrusively sniffing his bushy red hair. "Oh yeah, you're a good boy, aren't you?"

 

Sam frowns, turning back to Jon, "But, is he just going to... stay in here? He's allowed?"

 

"Yeah. Headmaster said I could keep him, since I had him at Durmstrang."

 

“Ah," Sam says. They all go quiet again.

 

_Here it comes..._

 

Breaking the awkward silence, Tormund decides to clear the air. “Okay, I’m just gonna say it,” he starts.

 

"So obviously people are talking about ya, and I don't know if it's even true..." he pauses, staring down at his feet. "But... how did ya get yourself thrown out, you know, _out of a place like that?_ "

 

Sam shoves his arm lightly, his eyes widening in embarrassment. "Tormund? You can't just ask him something like that, he barely knows us!"

 

“Aye,” Jon waves him off, "No it's alright. Really. I’d much rather someone ask me to my face... than all the stares I've been gettin today."

 

 _Maybe_... he’d rather that. He’s actually not quite sure yet. 

 

Sam shakes his head warmly, "No, we're not like that, I promise. We promise. Right?" Tormund nods along, supporting him.

 

Jon eyes them a moment, judging. "Well, it's honestly all just a misunderstanding." He scratches his dark, barely-there beard defensively, "But I do know what people _think_ that they know, so if you’re just gonna mock me, I'll save you the time—"

 

“None of us think _The Prophet_ is telling the truth.” Sam assures him. “Honest.”

 

Jon eyes them again suspiciously, relaxing in surprise. “Really...”

 

"Yeah, come on. _The Prophet_ is always full of shit?" Gendry declares obviously. 

 

“Huh...” Jon takes a deep breath, leaning against his bed frame, "Okay, well, I guess I could tell you that— well, I wasn't actually expelled." He exhales sadly. "They just like, made... me leave, and then just sent me _here_ instead.”

 

“But why?” Tormund asks.

 

“Uhm, well,” Jon pauses, explaining, “Actually, at Durmstrang, we apparently start earlier than you do here, so we were barely in school a month when... it all happened.” He bites his lip to hide his feelings. “So I think they thought this was the best option, to start fresh."

 

The boys all stare back at him blankly. “What happened? And who’s they?” Tormund peers over at Gendry, now slightly smirking, "And isn't _making_ you leave... what— _expelled_ , means? Ya know, if they _made you leave_?"

 

"No, because... it was for my _own_ safety,” Jon sighs in frustration. “Not for the safety of others _from me_ , like the papers say. And my professors and headmaster decided for me."

 

All three of them steal anxious glances at each other.

 

“What happened to you?" Gendry folds his arms timidly.

 

“Uh...” Jon glares out the window. "Well... while I was at Durmstrang, uhm— somebody..." he stops for a moment, thinking.

 

”Somebody what?” Tormund asks, surprisingly comforting. “It’s okay.”

 

"Well that’s the thing,” Jon explains, “...It wasn’t really a _somebody_. It was more like a... some _thing,_  rather... And, it tried to kill me." 

 

" _Kill_ you?" Sam gulps. “ _How_? Why?"

 

“Dunno...” Jon shrugs guiltily. “I was somewhere I shouldn't have been. And I was stupid and alone... and in the black woods." He tries not to picture it, but he can't help it. "It attacked me from behind. Knocked me to the ground. And I was able to get up and fight back the best that I could, but then I— uh, fell. And I don't exactly remember the rest..." he trails off fast.

 

 _...Somewhat leaving out the part that he shattered the thing into a million tiny pieces of ice with a mysterious sword appearing out of thin air._ The memory already flooding his mind—replaying over and over in the same twisted sequence.

 

“What happened _afterwards_ then? Did they catch it?" Tormund flinches, as Ghost stands up suddenly to go pace back protectively behind Jon.

 

"Well, no... And I woke up in the hospital wing a week later, recovering from hypothermia. And then they told me they were transferring me here," he peers up at them nervously, "Supposedly it's the safest place to be—"

 

“It is.” Tormund assures him confidently.

 

Gendry swallows hard. "But what _was_ it though? An animal...? Will it follow you here?"

 

Jon scoffs at that, "No, no it’s nothing like that. I was just at the wrong place, at the wrong time, I'm sure. Anyone in my place, would've done the same." 

 

Sam folds his arms. “So why would they make up all those terrible lies then? They should be investigating for clues, to track down the monster?!" he protests.

 

"Yeah, well, I don't think the Ministery wants people... _knowing..._ about all them.” He adds. “I kinda gathered that maybe, they're just using my story, to distract everyone from the truth."

 

"They're protecting a secret," Gendry puts together. “But... why?”

 

 _Great question_.

 

Sam furrows his brows down in confusion. "Sorry wait, I'm not sure I heard you correct, did you say...  _them_? You mean,  _there's more than one of these things?_ "

 

_Shit._

 

"No, no. I dunno," he lies again. "I only encountered the one man."

 

_He doesn't need to worry them even further._

 

" _Man?_ " Tormund whispers grimly, "Like the dark wizard after muggleborns? Grindel—“ he whispers lower. “You know who." 

 

S h i t— 

 

“No,” Jon's voice lowers, shaking his head impatiently, "Not a _man_  in a way like that. I mean, it was a _person_ , but it also wasn't..." he stops himself again. 

 

”Wasn’t what?” Gendry blinks.

 

Jon squints in shame at their totally lost expressions. "Okay yeah, well, I don't like to talk about this part exactly. Because... it’s the part, no one... believes."

 

" _Believes_...?” Gendry sniffs defensively on the contrary. "You want to talk about believing things? Okay, well, before Hogwarts, I lived with my muggle mum my whole life. And... I... never met my wizard father, until recently, so I didn't  _believe,_ in _magic_ — til I came here. Same thing."

 

"No.” Jon sighs abruptly, “It's not the same.” He looks down at the ground, then over to Ghost. “Because even in this world... still nobody believes me."

 

"Just tell us, and maybe we will." Tormund retorts patiently.

 

Jon shifts his eyes away in careful thought.

 

 _Maybe he should just tell them_. He really didn’t have much to lose anymore... _and_ , any kind of chance at making a friend, was a risk worth taking.

 

"...Fine.” He chews on his cheek. “I’ll tell you, but—“

 

”You don’t have to, Jon.” Sam notices his distress, eyeing a look over at Gendry to just let it go. “You know, if it’s too difficult to talk about...”

 

Jon frowns, “No, I’ll finish, it’s fine.” He stands up walking away towards the door to first check a quick glance that no one else was around to listen in.

 

“So... it  wasn't  a   _human_   _man_  because...” he sighs, shutting the door. “Well, he wasn’t exactly...   _alive—_ But, it was,  _like_ he was alive, except that he was like, made of ice.” He shakes his head confidently, “He was definitely _dead, I’m sure of it_ , but he was frozen, and still walking. And his eyes were... like glowing. I dunno. I can't really explain him better than that."

 

He pauses, noticing the boys trying, but not really following him. He huffs, "And frankly, I don't really want to explain it anymore. You’re right, Sam. No offense, you all seem very nice— much nicer than anyone has been to me here so far. But I don't really know you. And I don't exactly want to be sent to the mental ward on my first night."

 

Sam shakes his head in outraged disbelief, "We would never, Jon?!" He flashes a comforting smile, "It's alright. You don't have to tell us any more."

 

“Yeah, don't worry.” Tormund adds, “You know, I don't know why... but I believe you, and all about your scary ice man," he smirks, clapping a hand on his back. And for half a second, Jon almost thinks he's making fun of him.

 

”Thanks... I just wish everyone was this understanding.” His voice falters, still somewhat disappointed.

 

"You'll be alright, Snow." Gendry chirps, now in between Sam and Tormund. He drapes his arms around their shoulders. "Just ignore everyone else. That’s what we do.” He shrugs, “Most of them are jerks anyway. Just hang with us, and you’ll be fine."

 

Jon actually smiles back at him, while an unexpected, warm feeling stirs in the pit of his stomach.

 

 _Maybe he did have a new opportunity_ _at all this again. A chance to re-do everything._ He hoped for that more than anything.

 

_Maybe this was where he was meant to end up all along._

 

"Thank you," he smirks back, "As you can see, I don't have many friends anymore... so I really do appreciate that."

 

“Well. We're uh, kinda outcasts ourselves, so you'll fit right in." Sam hiccups kindly.

 

Suddenly Ghost whines, immediately as Jon’s stomach grumbles.

 

He laughs looking down, then peers back up at them, as Sam nods, suggesting, "Hmm yes, I think it's about time we head down to   _The  Great  Hall_."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 


	3. Follow the Spiders

_September 4th, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 **Dany** **beams,** grinning ear to ear, as she delicately lunges for another chocolate covered strawberry.

 

Arya, sitting next to her in the Great Hall, almost chokes on her drumstick, "Oh my God, that's Jon Snow. He's in Gryffindor?"

 

Dany's smile disappears. "Where?"

 

Its been three days since she got here, and it feels like she still hasn’t learned anything new about Jon Snow. 

 

Arya head nods down the endless Gryffindor table, "Down there. With... wait— he’s sitting with... _Gendry_?" She gapes, shaking her head, "Why are they together, is he stupid? Why is he talking to him?"

 

Dany squints a knowing smile, watching her friend's eyes shoot daggers towards the oblivious boy. "Arya, are you two... not speaking again?"

 

"Uhm no... we're actually civil for now. We just haven’t spoken in a while." She sniffs, "But he's still an idiot. Why do you think they're all sitting with him?"

 

"I'm not sure." She arches an eyebrow at her curiously, "Wait, you actually know Jon Snow, right?"

 

Arya bursts out a laugh, guessing, "Oh my god, they are probably all roommates?! Right?" Her eyes widen, as she snickers, "Gendry would probably shit his pants.” She laughs imagining, “Probably lay awake all night, worried he'll get murdered in his sleep."

 

Dany blinks back at her impatiently, repeating more slowly, "Arya. Do you know, Jon Snow?"

 

"I thought I told you? I don't, but my father does," she squints, "He taught him at Durmstrang. Talked about him all the time actually. It was kind of annoying."

 

"Talked about him in a good way or a bad way?"

 

"Oh no, good way. Please, my father's obsessed with him, he probably cried when they expelled him-" she stops herself. "Wait I shouldn't say those things. He told me and Sansa we should defend any rumors about him..." She frowns at Daenerys, "Bran thinks he's innocent. I just don't understand why they would write such terrible things about him, if he really was that great a wizard?"

 

•

 

Dany grabs the last chocolate strawberry, then twists her mouth to the side in thought, "We should go talk to Gendry. Find out some more information about him."

 

Arya turns back to Dany, smirking away from her other side conversation with Gilly. "Information? ...About what?" 

 

She sighs in frustration. "Jon _Snow? Come on_... Keep up."

 

Arya stops chewing, drawing out a grin, and then swallows, "Ugh. Well, I know _that_ look when I see it."

 

"What... look?" She furrows her brows defensively.

 

"Hmmm, I don't know Dany... Let's see, there was the 'Let's free those kitchen house elves' look." She taps her fork, "I remember that one well. Oh— or the, 'Let's follow the spiders!'"

 

”Stop.”

 

"Or _wait_ , can't forget about my favorite,” she laughs, “'Let's drive your dad's flying car, Arya," she barks waving an arm out, "'Yeah? All the way to Hogwart's what could go wrong?'—"

 

"—Okay, stop." Dany dismisses, as Arya chuckles again. 

 

"You sure? I could probably go on?"

 

"No." She sneers at her in defense, "This is different."

 

"Uh- _huh_..." she echoes, playfully elbow tapping her, "Well, either way, Jon Snow is your new bad idea. I can tell."

 

"I do not have  _bad ideas, Arya,_ " she frowns with flash of a grin, "Just sometimes my plans form tiny holes in them. Nothing unfixable."

 

She chances a glance over at the quietly warm, dark haired boy. "But I just think that if we could maybe figure out the truth... And then, if he’s not what they say about him— we could tell everyone to leave him alone."

 

Arya's jaw drops. "Uhm... okay. Where is this coming from?" Her voice lowers in volume, "Do you really think he's not a murderous muggle-hater?"

 

She shakes her head confidently, "No."

 

”How do you know?”

 

"I've just had this weird feeling about him, ever since that night on the train. I think... he's innocent."

 

She side eyes another quick glance, watching him from afar, as he smiles in awe, chuckling at the other boys around him, bickering in immature discussion.

 

Arya shrugs in apathy, continuing to eat her turkey leg.

 

Not letting it go yet, Dany scorns her again, protesting, "And also why would a muggleborn hate other muggleborns or muggles? That makes no sense."

 

"I don't know, Dany," Arya lifts her eyebrows daringly. "Why don't you go ask him yourself?"

 

Daenerys witnesses the challenge in her eyes, then nods to accept. She stands up suddenly and wipes the wrinkles smooth down her robes. And then turns to Arya waiting.

 

Arya’s eyes widen, choking back a nervous laugh, "Uhhh. You do know I was only joking right?"

 

”Well... I’m not. Are you coming?”

 

" _We can't talk to him right now?_  Let's talk to Gendry first," she bargains, now washing down the turkey with a gulp of fresh pumpkin juice.

 

" _Gendry's_ over _there_..." Dany reminds her calmly, "Come on, what's the worst that could happen?"

 

"Really? Well uhm, we could give him the wrong first impression, and then he slaughters us in our sleep."

 

Dany huffs, tossing her blonde waves over her shoulder, laying out the proposition hook, "Okay. Well I'll see you back at the common room then. But I'm heading over there now. I have a plan." She smirks, spinning around in the other direction.

 

Arya scowls biting, groaning in loud irritation. She chugs one last sip of her juice, and then scurries after her, "Wait a minute you dragon lunatic! I'm right behind you."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 


	4. Is She A Veela?

_September 4th, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 

 **Jon** **subtly** **checks** another quiet glance at her, as she continues on, passionately animated in conversation.

 

He leans over slightly to Sam, "Who is that girl down there? She keeps looking over here..." he says, now sipping his drink casually, "The one with the silver hair? She's a _Veela_ , right?"

 

Tormund peers down the aisle only to grimace a face of disgust.

 

Sam grins back at him wide, humming in amusement. "Ah boys," he croons over to Gendry and two other random Gryffindor boys, "It seems like our new roommate, does not yet know who Daenerys Targ—"

 

Tormund shoots up, banging a fist on the table, "Don't say her name!" he warns dramatically.  "It's   _cursed_."  

 

Gendry's brandy eyes nearly roll into the back of his head. “Oh boy, here we go..." 

 

"I'm serious, Gen?" Tormund flips up a brow, tapping his finger to his temple, "She knows everything," then taps his ears, "She _hears_ everything _._ "

 

Gendry scoffs, waving out a bemused hand to the boy next to him. “She's a _Targaryen_  for fucks sake," he chokes, "Not an all-powerful god."

 

Jon nearly spits out his drink. "Wait— Did you say _Targaryen_?" he pauses incredulously. "You're joking."

 

Gendry laughs knowingly, "No, no my friend, it's the truth," he whispers darkly. "That's no Veela. Just a bloody, hell-bound _she_ dragon—"

 

"She's no _dragon,_ you git," Tormund interjects, "Only _men_ can be dragons, everyone knows that.”

 

”What? A _dragon_?” Jon scrunches his face. “Why can’t a girl—“

 

”Aww, poor Snow... You’re so new and naive...” Tormund wistfully turns to Gendry with pretend pity, “I forgot you know nothing about anyone here.” His brows dip down condescendingly, “A Targaryen dragon is not an actual fire-breathing dragon.” He looks at Gendry, “Just take her madman father in Azkaban for example— I mean,  _he_ c _an't be burnt by fire,_ but he can damn sure rot in hell."

 

“I know what a Targaryen dragon is.” Jon squints, yet still newly confused, "But I thought, there were no Targaryens left besides him and _Grindelwald_?"

 

"Exactly, Jon. _True_ Targaryens are men, not little girls," he declares, "But _Grindelfuck_ has only a quarter Targ blood in him.” He sips his ale unimpressed, “He's no purebred."

 

Sam winces in disappointment, "Do you have to talk like that? They're  not   _animals_?"

 

”Grindelwald is an animal, Sam.” Gendry points out.

 

Tormund shrugs, ignoring them. "I'm just saying Snow, you're better off keeping yer distance from the pretty one... She's a pureblood princess. _And  she  hates muggleborns._ "

 

Gendry sputters out an obnoxious laugh. "That's _a  fucking  lie_?" He grins defensively, "Where do you hear these things even? She's nothing like how they were." 

 

He shrugs his shoulders. "Well she's annoying as all hell in class, I know that much." He leans in with a gossiping hand, "And,  _I heard she draws Grindelwald's symbol in her textbooks._ "

 

"Okay, now you're just making shit up." Gendry spits. "She's just a bossy know-it-all. Not a _muggle-_ hating psychopath—"

 

"She's a nightmare," Tormund chides.

 

"Alright, Tormund, enough please? You're giving me a headache." Sam says, standing up. "I'm going to find Gilly." He bends over to Jon, smiling through his teeth, "Sorry Jon. I would say they're not usually like this, but... they are."

 

"It's alright," Jon smirks, "I'll see you before potions." And then glancing down the aisle behind Sam, he frowns in suspended realization. "Uhm _..._ "

 

What the hell is she doing?  

 

He scratches his beard, "Is it just me or is she actually headed over here right now?" They all turn around at once, gaping as Daenerys Targaryen gracefully marches over, Arya trotting impatiently after her. "I'm not crazy right? She's looking right at us?"

 

" _Oh_  shit, she is— Bloody _fucking_ tits." Tormund panics. "I told you she can hear our thoughts?! I  fucking  told  you!" he smacks Gendry. "Snow, mention anything I just said, and I'll kill you." 

 

Gendry chuckles, mumbling under his breath, "You're a fucking coward. She's just a girl."

 

The redheaded boy punches his arm hard. "Shut up. Your _girlfriend's_ coming over too. Don't want her to hear your _sailor mouth_ , now, do ya?"

 

"Owww—" Gendry echoes, “ _God_ , why do you always have to hit me so hard," he rubs his arm. "And she's not my girlfriend," he bites back, adding on quickly, "She's a friend.  _Who happens to_ like _my sailor mouth, by the way_."

 

Tormund chokes on his drink scandalously. “What??”

 

"Shut up!" Gendry laughs, "I didn't mean it like that— I meant like she likes to swear too!"

 

“Sure, sure. Of course.” Tormund feigns assurance, then wiggles his eyebrows flirtatiously.

 

And that's just enough to make the two of them stop bickering, and burst into a fit of laughter— that is until... they all slow to an awkward silence, peering up at the two girls, now standing confidently in front of them.

 

Dany and Arya smirk back at them, greeting mischievous expressions.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 


	5. Quidditch Tryouts

_September 4th, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 **Dany**   **stops** elegantly alongside where the boys were sitting. They all stare at her in awe, puzzled with awaiting dumbstruck expressions.

 

Gendry leans over to look at Arya behind her, flashing her a shit eating grin. "Can we... help you boys with something?"

 

Dany chuckles unimpressed, "Yes actually, we were looking to see if Jon Snow was going to try out for Quidditch this year?"

 

Tormund coughs out, violently choking on his gelatin pudding.

 

She glances at Jon smartly. "We heard you played at Durmstrang, if I'm not mistaken?"

 

Meanwhile, she silently observes all of the dagger-like stares coming from whispering onlookers. She dared to speak to Jon in public and so she straightens her posture, feeling empowered.

 

The boys all pan at Jon expectantly, as he fidgets nervously with his fork for a moment, "Ah yeah, I played there.”

 

_Aw he seems nervous. Killers aren’t nervous, are they?_

 

”Okay, great. Would you like to tryout?”

 

“Maybe, uhm... When is it?"

 

Tormund subtly shakes his head at Jon in warning, but then freezes in fear as Dany catches him.

 

She turns to face him. "I know _you_ didn't make the team last year Giantsbane, but you could still try out again this year?"

 

The boys attempt to all hide their laughter quietly, but that doesn't go very well.

 

Tormund barks out an embarrassed gruff towards them. He swallows thick, barely glancing at her, rudely responding, "Uhm maybe?"

 

She smiles back at him with poise, "Good." Then squares back to Jon, "We have a meeting tomorrow night in the common room at 7:30. We will be doing interviews and you can meet the team." Arya simultaneously side glances at her with a half-confused expression, then widens her eyes skeptically back at Gendry.

 

"Okay thank you... I'll be there," Jon promises. Then he pauses, remarking, "Sorry, what did you say your name was?"

 

Gendry holds back a tiny gasp, wincing at what's coming next.

 

Dany squints down at him, "You... don't know who I am?"

 

Jon looks over at the boys and then eyes her back somewhat cheekily, "No, I'm sorry... I didn't catch it, did you mention your name?"

 

_He knows who she is._

 

 _How could he not?_ She thinks, but then smiles back responsibly, "No," she shakes her head, "You're right, I didn't."

 

She holds out her hand, "I'm Daenerys, I'm the Team Captain."

 

Jon arches his brows, reaching out, "Okay, Daenerys." He shakes her hand, just barely long enough to be almost uncomfortable— then pulls it away with a gentle expression, "Nice to meet you."

 

Taken aback by his intensity, she looks away— and then smirks back with regained composure, "Right."

 

She goes to walk away, but then turns around, remembering, "Actually, we were also wondering if you played any particular position though? You know, we are looking for a new Beater?"

 

He inhales sharply in disappointment, "Oh uh, I'm actually a Seeker."

 

Arya huffs in delighted surprise, right as Gendry made an _ooohhhh_ sound.

 

“Oh?” Dany’s brows thread together neatly, “Great,” she disapproves, bearing a cold smile.

 

_Clearly he does not know his place yet._

 

Reclaiming her authority, she explains to him, " _I'm_ actually, the Gryffindor Seeker, but you can try out for Beater. Or any other position." She stands up a little bit straighter.

 

His eyes question her stubbornly, but they’re definitely not mean.

 

He’s rather actually looking at her curiously playful, she decides. He’s not being malicious.

 

He’s flirting—

 

“Uh, alright. Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then." He side glances away at Gendry awkwardly.

 

She stands there for a moment, glaring back at him with warming cheeks, and then motions to Arya to leave. Her face now felt hot so she pushes Arya, moving her to follow behind her, gracefully storming away.

 

* * *

 

  

 


	6. Smooth Snow

_September 4th, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 **Jon** **smirks** down at the table, as she leaves... and then when she's gone, Gendry pats his back.

 

"Smooth, Snow, _very smooth_. I have to say, I'm impressed."  

 

"Impressed?" Tormund coughs out, "Snow. Do you have a death wish? Talking to her like that..." He mutters shaking his head warily.

 

“What about how she’s talked to me?” He mumbles. “She comes over here, knowing everything she thinks she knows about me, and then acts like I should’ve already known who she was?”

 

 _He didn’t know why that irritated him so much._  

...Probably because he would never know that kind of entitlement. 

 

“She’s royalty, Jon. The vanity’s in her blood. She can’t help it.” Tormund says, running a hand through his fiery red hair, "And did you know, that she’s got a _dragon_ in the Forbidden Forest?"

 

Jon scrutinizes his face for authenticity, “What?” He pauses, waiting for Gendry to laugh.

 

He doesn't.

 

"A real... dragon?" Jon chuckles half-heartedly, "I don't believe that."

 

Gendry pouts at Tormund. He sifts his eyes over the loud, crowded Great Hall, "It's true," he says wistfully, "he's yet to kill anyone... but I wouldn't test it."

 

"What does she do with it then, if it's just hiding— in the woods?" Jon chuckles, baring a slight attitude.

 

"He's not always there." Gendry explains, "Sometimes she rides him, flies him down by the water..."

 

_What the hell kind of 17 year old girl was this?_

 

Jon smiles in disbelief, but the boys still don't smile back. "This is a joke?"

 

Tormund grunts accusingly, "Listen Snow. She's a bloody crackpot.” He flails out an arm dramatically, "See she goes out, into the fucking forest, and then hangs out with it like it's her bloody pet!” He cries, “ _And_ I heard she even _talks_ to it like it can understand her. Imagine that?"  

 

“Oh,” Jon relaxes his shoulders, “It’s her _pet_?” He twitches a knowing smile. "I do have a direwolf you know, not the most normal of pets either."

 

Gendry squints an eye, ”I... wouldn’t put _dragons_ and little wolves into the same category, Jon.” 

 

“Just yesterday yo were complaining about his size?”

 

”Yes— in comparison to our bedroom, not a dragon!” Gendry laughs.

 

 _Oh please_.

 

Jon stands up, placing his lap napkin on the table, "Well, I’ve got to go. But thanks for the warning boys... Though I don't think our housemate is going to unleash her pet dragon on me just cause I stood my ground."

 

Tormund peers around suspiciously for any eavesdroppers, and then whispers in darkly. "You don't _know,_ Daenerys Targaryen, very well, Jon Snow." 

 

Jon’s smile starts to fade, as Tormund continues gravely, "Yeah. She'll turn dark one day. Just like her father... and _any_ other Targaryen that ever lived before them.”

 

 

 “...And you don't want to be on her bad side."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 


	7. Legilimency?

_September 5th, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 **Dany** **paces** angrily back and forth in the middle of the empty Gryffindor common room. Her long robes flow behind her, as she stalks past Arya and Gendry again, becoming more and more upset.

 

Every so often she glances up at the Quidditch Sign-up poster on the wall. And then at Jon's name... scribbled in at the very bottom.

 

The snapping flames in the fireplace dance, crackling blue and orange flames behind her. Arya and Gendry share an amused expression.

 

"Where _is_ everyone?" she demands hotly.

 

"Dany relax," Arya sighs. "It's only 7:15, they'll be here."

 

"Daario is never late." She frowns, "Something is wrong."

 

Gendry steps forward, "Well I mean, you _did_ let us know about this meeting _pre_ tty last minute."

 

In a surprised huff, Dany stops pacing. "So? It was important?" She folds her arms, "And that shouldn't matter, considering our first match is in a few _weeks_ and we haven't even scheduled our tryouts yet?"

 

Gendry smirks, nodding quietly, "Mhm hm." Arya scoffs a grin at him, hiding a chuckle.

 

Dany spins around on her heel, facing them both, "I'm sorry— And what does _that_ mean?"

 

Arya waves him off, explaining, "Well, what he meant before... was that this meeting was kind of on the spot." She gestures towards her with a smirk, "As in, nobody knew about it, before supper yesterday."

 

Daenerys shuts her eyes, impatiently frustrated. "But everyone said they would come."

 

"Yeah, well." Arya chuckles lightly, "It's also a little strange actually, because we've never asked  _everyone_ to come before either. Our first meeting of the year has always just been the returners."

 

 _What_ _are_ _they_ _getting_ _at?_

 

"So?" She folds her arms.

 

"So, that may have thrown people off a bit. You changed some things." Arya eyes her thoroughly. 

 

Dany shrugs. "I thought it was time for a change. To include everyone."

 

"Why though? Our first meeting, were _supposed_ to talk about the new potential players?" Arya furrows her bushy brows.

 

"Exactly. It's prejudiced to create a bias before tryouts." Dany eyes her plainly, "That's intimidating to new players. Like the positions are already set. They're not set."

 

Gendry sifts his vision over at Arya with a knowing grin, "Right... and a certain _mysterious wizard_ isn't the reason for it either."

 

Arya smacks his arm, widening her eyes in warning. "Gendry? I told you not to bring it up!"

 

Dany looks back between the two of them, her lips curving downwards, "What, you mean, because I asked,  _Jon_ Snow _?_ "

 

"We're  not  blind,  Dany." Gendry scratches the scruffy beard along his jaw, "You just want to get to know him."

 

"Know him? This meeting is about _quidditch_?" She eyes them both speculating, "Have you two been talking behind my back? Arya?"

 

The feisty brunette folds her small arms with a shrug, blinking back a straight face, but then peers back at Gendry in awe, as he nervously starts to laugh. 

 

" _Really, Gen?_ " she reprimands him.

 

"What?" he gawks, "It's funny!"

 

"Talking behind my back is funny?" Dany quips, pursing her lips.

 

"No, no," Arya stutters, as she watches Gendry hunch over in laughter, and she can't help but let out a small giggle too, explaining, "We weren't talking behind your back, Dany... I just, told him... about your little crush, that's all."

 

Dany gapes at them in betrayal. "I do not have a _crush_." She huffs at them in disbelief. And then huffs again, at the overall ridiculousness of it.

 

"You know, I've never seen you so flustered before last night." Gendry beams, raising his brows, "That was pretty funny."

 

She twists her mouth to the side, reasoning, "I don't fancy him like _that_ ," she narrows her pale eyes, "I can just tell that something's not right about what they say about him. I think, that he was just at the wrong place, at the wrong time. And I think we should help him."

 

"Right _help_ him." Gendry coos, wiggling his eyebrows scandalously. Then his eyes suddenly bug out in horrored disbelief. "Wait hold on!” He points.

 

”What...”

 

“You  _can_ read minds, can't you!" he gasps loudly, "How—how did you know that? _That he was at the wrong place at the wrong time?_ "

 

"What? Read- _what_?" she chuckles at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

 

"You know," he whispers accusingly, " _Legilimency_?"

 

Her and Arya mirror share a shocked grin, then start giggling uncontrollably.

 

" _Legilimency?"_ she gasps, "I'm a sixth year _student—_  that's like impossible?! Who told you I could do that?”

 

Gendry frowns back with a small shrug. His expression slowly falling more anxious, his forehead wrinkling nervously. “Tormund.”

 

“Well, there you go.” Arya gestures obviously.

 

The two girls' grins gradually subside in realization, now processing more the weight of his words.

 

Wait a minute. Jon Snow told him something important.

 

“What do _you_ mean, exactly, by ‘ _he was at the wrong place at the wrong time_ ’?” She squints her eyes at him, “What does that mean?”

 

He freezes, nonchalantly explaining, "I—I didn't mean it like that. Like that you knew what he said to me... It's nothing—just, I think that you're right... he is innocent. I think." He nods, checking behind him, slowly backing up towards the wall. His eyes now dancing nervously back and forth between the two of them, as they stride forward menacingly.

 

Arya whips out her wand, a joking threat to his chest. "You know something, Waters.  _Spill it_."

 

He chuckles, glancing away from the noticeably _short_  distance of space his chin was to her forehead. "Oh, come on? When did this turn against me?"

 

Arya pushes his chest. " _Gendry_. What do you know about him?"

 

"Ah—“ He seals his mouth shut, timidly shaking his head, "I don’t know... anything," he gently snatches her wrist, prying her wand away. "And don't push me!"

 

She laughs, softly shoving him into the wall again. "Aw, did I hurt you..."

 

Dany sighs in an irritated routine, watching them. It was like she wasn’t even there anymore.

 

They could be so oblivious to other people sometimes.  _It was bad enough last year with the ridiculous fighting._

 

But this year, somehow the fighting— had become fueled by something more than just hatred... And it was nauseating to be around.

 

Upon hearing the lock unhitch, Dany coughs loudly, getting back their attention, and they all pan over towards the majestic heavy door, as it carefully swung open.

 

Stepping inside, was Tormund and Gilly arguing in the midst of a heated conversation— with Jon Snow following in close behind them, undoubtedly exploiting his typical moody expression.

 

 _It was kind of sad how he always looked so mad at the world_.

 

Tormund coughs out, pointing, "See, I told you Gilly! We're early."

 

Gilly shakes her head angry, echoing flatly, "No, _you're_ late. I'm not joining this meeting." Then she scans the room, suddenly puzzled, turning her gaze over to Daenerys with a blank stare. "Wait, then why's nobody here?" 

 

Tormund cocks his head at Jon, smirking. "I'm gonna have to go with that it's because of our frightening fellow right here." He laughs, pointing at the sign up poster, “That’s apparently one scary signature.”

 

Dany knew he was reason behind the no-show, but him saying it out loud now, just made her even more angry.

 

"Well," she smiles coldly, "we can still wait a few minutes longer."

 

Arya huffs strutting over, plopping herself down on the maroon couch. She raises her thick brows dryly, "Well, we could be here a while."

 

•

 

Dany shifts on her toes, staring into the blazing fireplace. "How can people _believe_ something about someone so easily without proof?" she wonders madly.

 

Tormund scoffs, shrugging his shoulders, though in contrast, Jon peeks up at her, his eyes cautiously surprised.

 

She starts pacing again, "The players who knowingly chose not to come tonight for _whatever_ reason, will later suffer the consequences," she threatens.

 

Tormund gulps, flash-questioning a look over at Gendry. He mouths to him silently asking, ' _suffer?_ '

 

" _Suspension_ ," she articulates, quickly glancing at Tormund, "Not, a  torturous   _death_." 

 

Gendry sneaks back a mocking grin over at Tormund. "Okay then. Well,  _we_ are all here, so why don't we get started anyway?"

 

•

 

They all lay relaxed and reclined on the furniture, the overcast hue glowing golden in front of the fire.

 

Dany walks back to her display board, continuing her speech with a pointed wand.

 

"So that is a key element to this strategy... if we want to win. Pacing, control, and defense. Then we worry about the offense."

 

Tormund rolls his eyes at Jon, mimicking Dany with a talking hand, as Jon smiles back at him quietly.

 

Dany stops, turning her attention towards the red head. "I'm sorry, am I boring you?" 

 

Tormund's smile immediately curves downwards, as he blinks back at her with a shrug, considering. "No, it's just, I didn't know this meeting was gonna be this long. I'm tired."

 

Her eyes widen at his boldness, but then he suggests, defending himself, "Well, this strategy stuff is probably important and all, _but I'm more of an action guy_. You know, I think out on the field... not weeks beforehand."

 

Arya cringes, shaking her head in utter aggravation, turning around to face him, "That's what _strategizing_ is, idiot."

 

Daenerys smirks, pouting in amusement, "It's alright. Arya, Gendry, we can end here."

 

"Wait," remembering suddenly, Arya taps Gendry for his attention, asking out loud, "Don't we still have the interviews?"

 

He winks back at her, twitching a grin. "Oh yeah, Dany, the interviews."

 

Dany frowns, "Oh, yes. Well, actually Jon and Tormund are the only non-returners here right now so that would be rather pointless, right? Besides, we usually do them at tryouts anyway."

 

Tormund smiles sheepishly, "Aye, and I actually have some homework...and things to do so..."

 

Gendry gapes at him, laughing out loud at his ridiculously unlikely excuse. "I thought you were tired?"

 

"Alright then. We will postpone-" Dany says, but then stops, interrupted by Tormund again. "I don't see why Snow can't stay, though. He doesn't have any _homework_ , do ya, Snow?" He elbows him cheekily, as Jon glares back at him in exhaustion.

 

 _Yes. Points to you, Giantsbane._ She _would_ rather do his interview alone, without everyone around to eavesdrop. 

 

_Why was she so desperate to know more about him? How could someone who barely talks be so... interesting?_

 

"Hmm," she tilts her head thoughtfully, pretending to be thinking about it. She puts a hand on her hip, "Well, I don't see why not?"

 

Arya rolls her eyes with a half-smirk, rubbing two tired fingers into her temple. "Okay, well I'm going to bed."

 

The rest of them all turn around to Jon, waiting for his response. 

 

He shrugs back hesistantly, "I mean... I guess I could stay."

 

•

 

Before the other boys go upstairs, leaving Jon completely alone with Dany, Tormund whispers in his ear cautiously, "Be careful, Snow. Don't get caught saying something that she'll hold against you."

 

Yeah, there's no way she's putting up with him all year. He was hard enough to deal with in class, let alone by choice in her extra curricular activities.

 

Jon glares back at her, suddenly confused, as Tormund flees in escape, chuckling up the stairs. “Wait?" Jon echoes quietly, “What’s this really about?” But Tormund's already halfway up the stairs and gone.

 

Arya stands up with Gilly, then heads over to the stairs, repeating her offer, "Dany? We'll be in our room... if you need... anything." She flashes her eyes.

 

Why was everyone making this such a big deal?

 

 _He’s not dangerous. She doesn't like him like that._ She wanted to get to know him, yes, but _this_ is about quidditch. That's it.

 

She tosses her silver hair over her shoulder, smiling casually, " _Okay?_ I'll be in in a few minutes. Goodnight."

 

•

 

Dany sips her tea, sneaking over a look at Jon, wondering what she said wrong, as he stares hotly into the fire, shifting awkwardly in his seat.

 

She walks around the couch, still watching him out of the corner of her eye, and picks up a Quidditch text-guide laying flat on the table.

 

She opens the thick pamphlet, absently leafing through it, though she finds herself more interested in the way Jon's zoned eyes blacken a certain mysterious depth. Lost to the flames in a thoughtful trance.

 

 _What was he thinking about?_  What could she have possibly said wrong?

 

She shakes her head, switching her focus back to the text.

 

_Oh well, if something was bothering him, he better say something soon... or she's going to ask._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 


	8. Set Up

_September 5, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 

 **Jon blinks** back at the fire in fear, as he begrudgingly accepts that he's now alone, and stuck with this strange, ethereal girl that he just can't quite figure out.

 

He clears his throat, mustering the courage to tell her what he's been thinking.

 

"So that was... rather awkward before, wasn't it?" he mumbles, still watching the flames.

 

She shakes her head at him dubiously, unsure what he means.

 

"The way they were all acting... towards the _end_  of the meeting, I mean?" he clarifies. "Like right before they went up to bed."

 

She shrugs again, now humming, flipping through her Quidditch Captain notebook. "I guess." She smiles to herself, staring at the word _Captain_ , engraved in the leather binding.

 

"You didn't think it was weird?"

 

She knits her dark brows in thought, absently sitting back down— directly across from him in a dark velvet armchair, still looking through her small book. "No?"

 

_She had to have noticed, she's smarter than that?_

 

_What is she hiding, what are they all planning?_

 

This will _not_ happen to him again.

 

No. He has to just say it.

 

He coughs nervously in casual suggestion, then murmurs, "They're not... trying to—  _set me up_ , are they?"

 

Dany pauses at first—then scowls up at him, immediately horrified and confused.

 

“I'm sorry what? _Set_  up,  _how?_ "

 

He looks down, smoothing his fingers over his tie, "Yeah. I mean, I get the quidditch interview and all... but why did they want me to talk to you completely alone? What else is this for?"

 

"They—didn't?" She forces a terribly, false smile. "What are you asking me?"

 

He peers back up at her strictly like he knows her angle, "Come on, that had to have crossed your mind that I might think that, considering my situation."

 

"Sit—Situation? No?" She narrows her eyes at him in utter disbelief, "No, Jon _Snow_ , that hadn't exactly crossed my mind, at all?"

 

_Wait a minute. He gets her being defensive, that makes sense. But why..._

 

Why is she so... _embarrassed?_  

 

She hiccups crossly again, "I hope you know this is strictly professional, Snow? You and I. Nothing more."

 

His expression freezes. Then his shoulders drop softly in realization.

 

Hold on.

 

"Got it?" she presses, her brows twisting into a scowl.  

 

He nods back— while simultaneously, his fears slowly begin brightening from dark to light, now fully processing her tone and... _words_.

 

 _She thought that he was coming on to her..._ romantically?

 

_He chuckles to himself..._

 

His stomach pools a twisting knot, spreading a foreign kind of _warmth_ inside of him. And not out of embarrassment for her, or himself...

He just felt warm.

 

That was _not_ what he meant. But it did amuse him entirely.

 

He raises his eyebrows high, now chuckling uncertaintly, "Uh, so what do you mean by ' _professional?'"_ He glances up at a moving painting that suddenly caught his eye. _"_ Like that we would just be teammates?"

 

He didn’t want to embarrass her... but he was going to have a little fun with this.

 

She glares back at him, crossing her arms conservatively, looking around the room. Standing her ground. "Yes." She recites clearly.

 

Unable to stop himself from coming across as a bit too  _smug_ , he sits up straighter in his seat, hiding his smirk quietly. "No, I knew that. But uhm," he smiles at her from across the room, leaning forward. "How about friends?"  

 

Dany's eyes flutter, blinking back at him skeptically. Her mouth parts open slightly, then just as quickly seals into a tight line.

 

She still seemed angry. And that shouldn’t make him want to laugh, but... it does. Probably because she wasn’t _really_ angry, just flustered. He had a feeling he wouldn’t want to be around Dany when she was truly mad. “We’ll see,” she frowns.

 

He quirks a brow, as she ignores him again, getting more flustered, ruffling through her papers.

 

She exhales in irritation, suddenly gaining back her composure, and then flits her eyes back up at him in warning.

 

He decided he likes her like this best. That he made her feel this way, intentional or not. Unprepared for once, completely  _human—_

 

She has flaws and why does that make her so much more attractive. Fuck.

 

_Okay he is an awful person and needs to stop._

 

"Alright, well. Now that we've _unnecessarily_ cleared up that confusion." She snaps him out of his awakening thoughts. "We can get finish the interview."

 

Well. This was awkward. He didn't really care though, him speaking up was definitely worth it. 

 

"Okay." He can’t help but smile at her again in relief, as the notepad lifts again, gently floating up into the air, the magic quill zipping up to it, scribbling her words as she asks him what other positions he has had experience with. And now he's able to respond quite easily, feeling much more comfortable.

 

Because at least it wasn’t what _he_ thought was happening to him. That could have been worse.

 

Much worse.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 


	9. The Rise of Devil's Snare

_September 6th, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 **Jon Snow** **slaps** his Herbology textbook onto the hardwood table with a _thud_ , quietly taking an end seat on the table's bench in the foggy, misting greenhouse. The leaf-tinted, hissing classroom was silent and empty— that is, except for a few early, independently working students.

 

And Tormund.

 

"You said _what_ to her?!" He squeezes in next to him, plopping down on the side stool with a grunt, much to Jon's dismay.

 

"I dunno. It just sorta...  _slipped out._ "

 

" _Slipped_ _out?!_ " Tormund mocks, "How does that just _slip_ out?!"

 

Jon shrugs apathetically, as two Hufflepuff students, quietly enter the greenhouse— unsuccessfully though, as they not-so-quietly try to repress their muffled laughter. One of them, was a skinny boy with reddish brown hair and freckles, while the other was a harshly featured, but very pretty, raven-haired witch— and for a Hufflepuff, Jon noticed in curiosity, that her golden brown eyes held an unusual depth of darkness. 

 

Behind them, now follows in Dany, chatting animatedly with a straight-faced, Greyworm.

 

 _Why did she always sit with that Hufflepuff boy? Not that he didn’t_   _seem nice... but just rather random._

 

Jon's eyes' follow her languidly, as she walks by, curiously ignoring him.

 

She heads straight to the front of the mossy, vine wrapped classroom, sitting down square in front of the professor's desk. Well, empty desk... He still hadn't shown up yet.

 

Amused by her hostility, Jon smirks, taking out his quill and messy notebook, flattening it on the table.

 

"So tell me then, Snow. A ' _set up'_...” Tormund leans in whispering, “is that how they do it in Durmstrang? Is that how you get your _women,_ up there in the North?” He snorts, “...Or is it your _men_?" his eyebrows lift teasingly. "I know there's not many lasses to choose from up there.” He shrugs honestly, “Not that that's a problem, by the way."

 

Jon rolls his eyes haphazardly, "Yeah funny, cause we're an all male school, ha-ha, like I haven't heard that one before..." He huffs, now slowly thinking about what happened. "But no really, this was... different. She misunderstood me."

 

Tormund squints back at him, still confused. "Uh-huh..."

 

"Well, when you all left me with her,  _alone,_  by the way,” Jon squinted at him, “I started to worry if the interview was more than just about...  _Quidditch_."

 

“ _Aye_ ,” Tormund quirks an impatient, bushy eyebrow, "How so?"

 

Jon stares back at him for a moment. Deciphering his expression before going on... "Well truth is, I started getting nervous that, well, this whole thing was really... just a trick to get some more information about me, for the newspapers,” he exhales reasonably, “I didn't know what she was going to ask me, or have on record—"

 

"What?” Tormund gawks at him, “No?! If that witch wanted to sell ya words to the bloody Prophet, I didn't know anything about that! I swear, Jon. None of us did, we were just messing with ya—"

 

Jon smiled at his unexpected loyalty, then chuckles sadly, "No, no, I know. Really, it's alright. It actually wasnt like that at all." He suddenly pouts, now playing with the feather of his quill. "I was just paranoid. I don't know..."

 

"But she's just a sixth year student... what could she even do?" Tormund looked genuinely concerned.

 

"Uh. Apparently anyone can send in anything to the Prophet. And get money for it too, if it's worthy enough information..." He looks away to the ground. Trying not to remember.

 

Tormund glances away in thought, and then slowly, he realizes, frowning back at him. "That's happened to you before, hasn't it, Snow? With some scum reporter? Or—" he pauses gravely, "Or was it... someone you _knew_?"

 

Jon takes a beat, and then nods back, his eyes ringing with reminiscent disdain. “Yeah. A classmate of mine. Right before I left... he uh, he told the press that I had a _dangerous_ animal coming with me to Hogwart's.” He raises his brows angrily, “And that the students...  _wouldn't be safe_.”

 

"What?! Tormund gasps in outrage. “Ghost wouldn’t hurt a fly!" Then he stops, casually second guessing, "—Well, as long as no one tried to hurt _you_ , he wouldn't."

 

"Yeah... Well, it caused quite the hysteria for those- what, _two days_...” Jon said dryly. “They took him away from me before I left.” He dips his quill into the fresh cup of ink across the table. “But Dumbledore, and an old professor of mine, they made sure I could keep him with me. ...Thankfully.”

 

Torment sighs sympathetically. "Wow. You must really not trust anyone."

 

"No, I don't," Jon admits with a bleak chuckle, then corrects himself softly, "I can't."

 

Trying to lighten the mood, Tormund gives him a half-smile. "Okay... So then, how did you figure out, well, that we weren’t... _setting_ _you_ _up_ _?_ "

 

Jon’s lips curve upward, observing Dany again, chatting obliviously in the front row. "I don't know. I'm good at reading people, I guess."

 

”Reading people?” The other boy hums sarcastically, “Okay, sure.”

 

Jon holds back a small smile, watching Dany jabber on in a passionate one-sided conversation, while a patiently half-listening Greyworm, sifts confusedly through his Herbology textbook.

 

"But I thought you like, fancied her?” Tormund argues lightly, “Why would you think she was tricking you all of a sudden?"

 

Jon actually laughs out loud. "Uhm. I don’t fancy her?” he whispers, “I just thought she was a Veela... uhm, for obvious reasons?”

Tormund mocks a frown in disbelief. “Right.” He narrows his eyes coyly. “So... then what did she say to make you think—“

”It wasn’t her, it was you?” Jon scowls, “Remember when you warned me beforehand and said, ‘Be careful what you say to her,’” he mimicked his deep voice, “‘she’ll probably hold it against you.'"

 

“Ohhh,” Tormund flushes guiltily. "Sorry..."

 

"It’s fine.” Jon half-smirks, explaining, “She did also, well— right when you all went up to bed— she told me all about how she wants to be a journalist someday...” He bites his lip, “And that was when I really panicked."

 

"Oh,” Tormund grumbles, “Yeah, well, that would do it." He opens up his raggedy notebook. Its pages filled with years and years of scribbled notes- a mesh of all subjects. How did he ever pass any of his classes?

 

Jon leans back in his chair, so Dany no longer was in his line of vision. ”Yeah, and then I decided to ask her if it had been planned all along.” He cringes, “For us to be _alone_." 

 

Tormund smacks his forehead, a winced smile spreading, “And she took that as you askin' her out on a sunny picnic date, am I right?"

 

"...Basically," Jon smirks.

 

“Oh... fuck, that's brilliant.” Tormund laughs, beaming, “So then what, how did explain yourself?”

 

”I don’t know... I thought she’d gotten embarrassed, so I just kinda let it go,” Jon hid his chin, smirking towards the wooden door as more Gryffindor students piled in. 

 

“Oh come on. How did it go though, _after_ _that_?" He wiggles his bushy, red eyebrows, "You were down there for a lot _longer_ than we thought you'd be..."

 

“Yeah, you were snoring like a bear when I came in.”

 

”Well, was it awkward?” Tormund presses.

 

 _A part of Jon really wanted to tell Tormund to leave him alone and mind his own business..._  But somehow, the other part, really couldn’t help himself.

 

“Well uh...” Jon arched a brow with a small smile, "No. Everything after that was fine. And, much better than before, actually... She just asked me about other positions I played at Durmstrang, and made sure I knew the rules of the game,” he twitches a smirk, “and I don’t know, it was fine."

 

Tormund grimaces. “Snow.”

 

"Yeah." Jon straightens up his other papers, as the room got louder, as everyone waited for their professor. "The whole situation was kinda funny, really." He says plainly, "She's cute."

 

 _"Snow?”_ Tormund nearly shouts, getting the attention from a couple students side-eyeing them from nearby. “A  _Peruvian Vipertooth,_ is _also_ very _pretty_ from afar _,_ but ya don't get up close and hug it?!” He bangs his fist on the table, “Well, ‘less ya want it to snap yer bloody head off—"

 

"What?” Jon laughs in exasperation, “Stop being dramatic,” he squints, “I’m done talking about this alright? Also, where’s our professor? He’s late, isn’t he?”

 

“Uh yeah, probably,” Tormund glances around. Then his eyes scan back across, passing over Dany again. They narrow cautiously, as she helps— no rather, _man_ handles Greyworm’s wrist, seeming to reteach him a spell, the ‘correct way’.

 

Tormund looks back at Jon, plainly gesturing to Dany, as if she were strangling a puppy in broad daylight. "If you’re into that kinda crazy, be my guest, but I’m warning you now, she’s a ticking time bomb, Snow— let it be known."

  

"Hello, friends!" Sam suddenly greets from behind them with a bubbly grin, almost scaring Jon out of his seat.

 

Gendry noses in next to him, “What were _you_ two just talking about?” He smirks judging their expressions, “You look like you just saw Grindelwald in the flesh.”

 

Gilly scowled at him, taking her seat next to Jon. 

 

”How many fucking times do I have to tell you— _Don’t say his goddamn name_.” Tormund barked. He nods to Gilly dutifully, “Gilly knows.”

 

”Grindelwald, Grindelwald. _Grindelwald_.” Gendry whispers mockingly.

 

Jon smiles absently in response to Gendry, though truthfully, he was more obviously eyeing Daenerys in his peripheral vision.

 

An agile, Gryffindor girl with dark curly hair, skips over to the front, hopping into a seat next to Dany.

 

Who was she _?_ He doesn’t think he’s seen her yet with Dany.

 

The girl whispers something excitedly into Dany's ear. And then processing her news, Dany beams back at her, doting a newly scandalous expression. 

 

Suddenly, the door flies open- and the class immediately falls a bit quieter. Dany and the other girl both turn around fast, giggling silently at the wild, old wizard scuttling into class late— blindly holding out a box in front of him, filled with about six or seven pots of angry, serpenting plants.

 

"Aye, hello my dear students!" the man shouted gruffly, "Do not fear, Professor Seaworth is here!" The door to the greenhouse slams shut, and the class giggles at him quietly. It seemed routine.

 

“Late, late, late, oh, how the time always escapes me...” Professor Seaworth hums, carefully scurrying over to his desk, “I’m sorry,” he says, balancing the box of magical cabbage plants, chomping angrily in his arms. He sets them down onto the wooden table in the back of the room. Their leave-like mouths, snapping and growling in hasty aggression.

 

"I have to thank you, my lovely students,” he winks, walking back to his desk, “You’re so patient with me. You see, this morning, I had a terrible situation with some _Chinese Chomping Cabbage._ " He sighs in exhaustion, "They seem to have mistakenly found their way into the kitchen."

 

The quietly freckled boy with strawberry blonde hair, bites his lip for a moment, then guiltily raises his hand, "Uhm, Professor." He smiles sheepishly, "That may have been my fault..."

 

"Ah, yes... of course," the professor’s tone changed instantly. “Newt,” he articulates, sighing with familiar disappointment. "Mr. Scamander... you know well that I cannot condone further my appreciation for your _tireless_ work ethic— _but,_ I have told you, on _numerous_ occasions, that there was to be no more transferring of flesh-eating plants back to your studies— or anywhere, for that matter."

 

"Well... they're not flesh-eating, sir. They just like... vegetables," Newt argued innocently, while his friend, the sharp featured, raven-haired girl, bubbles out a muffled laugh next to him. 

 

"That is _completely_ inaccurate, Newt—“ Professor Seaworth furrows his brow strictly, “in fact, your fantasies are beginning to concern me.” He now shifts his gaze to the girl, unamused.

 

"And as for you, my dear..." he reprimands haughtily, "Don't expect me to believe that you had no silly part in this, Ms.  _Lestrange_.” He looks back to Newt. “You and I, and your partner, Leta, will be having a word after class. Five points from Hufflepuff."

 

Half of the class groans in unison.

 

Professor Seaworth mock-groans back at them, apologizing. But then he frowns, noticing all of the students glaring accusingly at Newt and Leta.

 

“Hey, now...” he shakes his head at them in disappointment. And then with a sudden solution, he chuckles out brightly, "Aye, well now, wait a minute! How about a quick chance to get it back, Hufflepuff?"

 

Rolling his eyes, Gendry quietly scoffs to Jon. "What's the point of taking it away then?" he scowls, "He always does this..."

 

The kindly old wizard huffs on the contrary, "Or perhaps a way for Gryffindor to take the lead? Hmmm? How 'bout it!"

 

Some of the class responds, and some of them don’t at all. The majority were half enthused.

 

The professor scratches his silvery-bearded chin, puzzling in thought, "Alright! Oh, here we go! Okay my friends, who can tell me why there has been a suddenly,  _dangerous_ increase in the deadly, magical plant, _Devil's Snare_?" 

 

Dany’s eyes widen, shooting up her hand in immediate response. 

 

 _Wow_ , Jon chuckled to himself. She really loved to participate. He noticed it predictably in every class he had with her.

 

Straining her arm, Dany reached up even further, upon witnessing a smug, Leta Lestrange, pompously holding her hand up high as well, while Newt obliviously stared past her, dreamily gazing out the window.

 

The professor hums indecisively. "Hmm... Alright. Well, how 'bout we give,  _Ms. Lestrange,_ a chance at some redemption, shall we?"

 

Dany bites her lip, dropping her hand in disappointed, frustration.

 

Leta smiles innocently, "Well, Professor, there has been an increase in Devil's Snare because of the recent dramatic change in climate, sir. The continuously plummeting drop in our hemisphere's temperature." She side-eyes a coy smile wickedly back at Daenerys.

 

Jon frowns. She seemed rude.

 

"Yes, that is correct, Ms. Lestrange! Well done. Five points returned to Hufflepuff."

 

Gendry shakes his head in disbelief, then mumbles under his breath, "Unfair."

 

The professor clears his throat, "Alright then... uh, how 'bout one more," he promises. "Who can tell me though  _specifically,_  why this would happen to the species? _Why_ has the temperature affected these deadly plants?"

 

The professor skims the class hopefully, wavering between a lack of choice hands. His hope fades though, as some put their hands back down- and Dany and Leta, are again, the only competing participants.

 

"Ah, Ms. Targaryen?" he smiled, whispering encouragedly, "Go ahead, give it a go."

 

Dany grins, straightening her posture, "Well, Devil's Snare hates sunlight... or fire. Anything hot, actually. And now, with the _odd_ news of weather protection counter-charms proving _unsuccessful_ against the cold, they've been overpopulating as a species."

 

"Right, and—"

 

"—And at this rapid rate," she finishes quickly, "there will soon be nothing to kill it off."

 

"That is precisely correct, Ms. Targaryen, well done!” The professor points out, “Except, that we do have _The_ _Control of Dangerous Magical Plants and Creatures Department_ to help take care of that if the time comes."

 

Newt interrupts impulsively, "Or the help of a _Magizoologist_ , Professor. From The _Care_  of Magical Plants and Creatures Department."

 

Professor Seaworth stares at him hopelessly. “Right, Mr. Scamander. Except for the thousandth time,  that  profession,   _does  not  exist.”_ He turns back to Dany, "Five points awarded to Gryffindor, well done, Ms. Targaryen."

 

Tormund rolls his eyes at the proud look on Dany's face, while Sam leans back, lightly tapping Jon's shoulder, "Jon," he whispers, flashing a sudden light bulb-like glow in his eyes.

 

He taps him again, "Jon. I just thought of something. About the monster—"

 

Jon's eyes widen in shock, shaking his head at him in disapproval as the professor neared them, "Not now Sam, later—" he winces, upon hearing the man’s shuffled feet, now standing right behind him.

 

"Ah, Mr. Snow..." Professor Seaworth interrupts them, "Our infamously _talented_ newcomer," he tisks, "Yet, I'm afraid— it seems that he's already  _talking out of turn?_ "

 

Students carefully turn around, hitting Jon with dense, penetrating stares. Some whispering darkly under their breath.

 

Professor Seaworth begins to leisurely walk down the aisle, "You wouldn't want to begin the school year off on the wrong foot now, _would you_ , Mr. Snow?"

 

He eagle eyes Sam, adding thoughtfully, "Especially not with our chatty, _loquacious_ repeat-offender, _Mr._ _Tarly_?"

 

Jon shakes his head solemnly, "No, sir."

 

Sam peers away, thickly embarrassed.

 

The gray old man clears his throat, pointing at him gently, "Right you won't." He claps his hands, turning around in a snap decision. "Now class," he heads back towards his desk, "Open your textbooks and let's turn to page _394_..."

 

Sam shrugs at Jon apologetically, mouthing the word, _Sorry_.

 

Then cautiously eyeing the Professor, he risks getting caught, whispering to him again, "I'm serious though, Jon.” He eyes him, intensely stressing the serious importance, “ _I think I've figured something out._ "

 

 

* * *

 


	10. The Others

_September 6th, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 **Dany's** silver hair lifts gently, whipping in the bitter wind, as she sits tall, on top of a stone ledge outside in the Clock Tower Courtyard.

 

"How are you _not_ cold?" Meera shudders standing there, snuggling up her maroon and gold scarf tighter around her neck.

 

Dany scoffs. "I don't know."

 

"Good afternoon, friends," Tyrion greets them contently from behind, with Missandei joining them in a half circle.

 

"Hi. Good. You're both here, I have some news." Dany glints a mischievous expression. "We've found a clue." Meera nods along, wiggling her eyebrows proudly.

 

"We overheard some _very_ interesting information this morning."

 

Tyrion side glances at her tired, “Okay...” he waves a hand out, articulating, "About what?"

 

Dany leans in closer with dark enthusiasm, "Well. After Herbology class, we were walking behind Jon Snow," —Tyrion's already rolling his eyes— "and he was with that boy, you know, Samwell Tarly?"

 

Tyrion fidgets with his scarf as the wind howls, wrapping it tighter around his neck. “Yes...” he looks up at her.

 

"Well, we overheard him talking to Jon about this _book..._  that he found in the library—" She smiles, pausing in suspense. "And he said that it might help _explain_ Jon's encounter...  _as proof_."

 

Tyrion blinks at her unimpressed, waiting for the punch line. "Hum... And which _book_ might this be?"

 

"Yeah... well," Meera frowns, biting her lip, "he didn't say the name _exactly_."

 

"Hmmm, he didn't say the name of the book..." Tyrion puzzles his chin in pretend thought, glancing at Dany, "You appear to have quite a lead to the truth."

 

Dany smirks, lightly shoving his shoulder, "Well, we heard him _talk_ about the book," she defends. "We we're hoping you might have heard of it."

 

"Yeah," Meera adds, "he mentioned something called, uhm, _The Others?_  Or white... something. Workers?" she squints at Dany, trying to recall the name.

 

"... _Walkers_?" Tyrion suggests with a knowing grin.

 

"Yes!"

 

He shakes his head condescendingly, a short chuckle eacaping him. " _The Others_ , is a fairy tale... You've never heard of it?"

 

"What? You know about it?" Dany lights up.

 

"It is a _children's_ _fable_ , Dany!"

 

"So?!" She contorts her face in sudden offense.

 

No one read her silly bedtime stories as a child, how was she supposed to know?

 

" _So?”_  Tyrion loosens the level of sarcasm. “It’s just a _story_ , made to scare little boys and girls before they go to sleep."

 

Missandei nods her head, recalling thoughtfully, "Wait, I think I actually remember a story like that? The _Others—_ " she repeats softly. "Something about walking dead men... and an army, bringing the cold with them wherever they go," she echoes, "My father used to tell my brother and I stories of what happened when we were younger."

 

Tyrion pinches the bridge of his nose in exhaustion, "Yes, that's the one. A thousand years ago, supposedly, the First Wizards battled the dead men bravely and won,” his voice transforms, triumphantly mocking his words, “saving muggle and wizardkind alike and _blah, blah, blah._  Dany, it's  not   _real_   history."

 

Dany stares wistfully up into the brightly frosting sky, "Maybe. Maybe not."

 

"What on earth does that mean?" Tyrion chortles.

 

She glances back at them, suddenly inspired, "What if... the severing cold temperature threat is _connected_ to all of this?" she exclaims, "What if _Jon Snow_ was _attacked_ by one of those dead things?"

 

He folds his arms across his chest, "Theoretically, if Jon Snow ever met a white walker..." he chuckles, "he would most definitely not be here right now."

 

Meera lightly scratches her cheek, looking smugly over at Dany. "Haven't there been rumors though, about how he shouldn't have lived?" she says, biting back a grin. 

 

Dany squints, smirking back slowly, "Yes, Meera, actually... You are completely correct."

 

"Daenerys, I never pegged you as one to believe in _rumors_..." Tyrion points out.

 

"This is different. And you're right I don't believe in rumors..." She stands up, her blonde hair blowing lightly in the brisk cold wind. "But what I do believe in, is myself. And I have a hunch."

 

"A _hunch_?" he groans dramatically. "Oh you know _how I feel about your hunches_ , Dany? I don't _like_ your hunches."

 

She folds her elbows into her stomach smartly, "And why is that, may I ask?"

 

"Seriously?" He lightly taps her arm in disbelief, looking to Missandei for support.

 

The timid Ravenclaw nods, admitting quietly, "I have to agree with Tyrion, sorry Dany... They _do_ tend to lead us straight into trouble."

 

"See? It's not just me." Tyrion points out.

 

"I don't care, I'm going to figure it out." Her eyes light up, suddenly grinning back confidently. "You don't have to join me. But you can't stop me, sorry."

 

 

* * *

 


	11. The Promised One

_September 9th, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 **Jon** **climbs** up the winding, spiral staircase stairs of the Gryffindor common room, skipping the narrow steps up to his chambers.

 

He stops fast— walking in on his two roommates, caught in a  _strange... s_ ituation. 

 

Tormund and Gendry were together by the windowsill, flaunting in the mirror a matching set of some of the most ridiculous, overtly offensive fur hats and costumes Jon had ever seen. They both turn around, hiccuping in a fit of laughter, their faces lighting up immediately upon spotting him—

 

"Jon!" Gendry shouts, as Tormund drops his purple suspenders, kicking them off, cackling back at Gendry in his transparent, puffy air-blown up coat. 

 

_What the hell—_

 

"Uhm... hi—" He quickly squints back at them suspiciously. "... _What are you guys doing_?" he lifts an amused brow. "Have you been experimenting with the psychedelic-muggle potions we learned about yesterday?" 

 

They laugh again, Tormund's broad shoulders shaking haughtily. "No. And we still gotta do that, Gen," he chuckles to him. "But no. Guess what."

 

"Uh, I honestly don't know." He plays along, a smirk slipping his lips. "You are... going to a party...  _outside?_ " 

 

Ghost whines, perking his head up lazily from on top of Jon's bed.

 

"Wrong. Gendry's got a _date_ ," he gawks shortly, "—with an _older_ woman."

 

"Oh? Is that why you're going through all of Sam's clothes?" He flits his eyes over, judging the mountain-tossed pile on the floor.

 

"It was Tormund's idea," Gendry accuses. "We're just trying on outfits."

 

Jon arches back a sarcastic brow, "Okay clearly, but why Sam's clothes?"

 

"Because... uh- Sam's _rich?_ " Gendry snorts, like he should have obviously known that. "So he's got a ton of all these weird, fancy wizard clothes," he says, shrugging off the silver, Occamy-feather sewn tunic.

 

"Yeah, apparently this bird’s  _super high maintenance_ ," Tormund swoons, wiggling his eyebrows. "Her and Gendry talked _all day _yesterday..." he mocks, in sing song tone, "All about his loving, supportive father, and their _wonderful_ , father-son relationship—"__

 

Gendry frowns contritely. "Could you _not_  make me feel any more worse than I already do?" He wilts, collapsing on Sam's bed, "I'm just hoping she doesn't bring it back up again."

 

Truthfully, Jon didn’t remember what the current relationship status was between Gendry and his father. All he knew was that his father didn't even know he existed until he was fifteen—  _which was like, barely two years ago..._

 

"Bring it back up?" Tormund chuckles harshly. "I hate to tell you mate, but that _is_  why she's interested. She thinks you know famous people."

 

_Oh yeah._

 

 _His father was also a_ multi-millionaire _celebrity._

 

Robert Baratheon (coincidentally no relation to Joffrey, Gendry reminded them pointedly).

 

 _A washed up, five time winning— Quidditch World Cup Champion._ _Half famous in the Magical Hall of Fame for being Ireland's longest reigning Beater, starting for twenty-seven years._

_Half famous in the Magical Media for his talents in other sports— like Muggle poker, and charming women worldwide._

 

"Fuck you." Gendry breathes angrily. "She's not like that. And honestly... I only see her as a friend anyway, I like talking with her," he sighs. "And I'm only going cause she asked me, I think she wants to make Joffrey jealous."

 

"Oh, well that’s a damn prize all on its own," Tormund beams, shaking a finger at him. "And I _knew_ there had to be something! She's one of those _Slytherin fox_ lasses— _they_ _always got a hidden agenda,"_ he dishes."I say you milk that rich boy act all the way, brother." 

 

"Yeah, that's why I need a fancy outfit, you know, a nice _fur coat_  or something. To show off."

 

"Doesn't Joffrey know who you are though?" Jon laughs, asking.

 

"Yeah, but he doesn't know about my father. Well, didn’t, probably. No one knew until recently..."

 

“Recently?” Jon judges his expression, looking somewhat torn.

 

“Yeah? It’s all over the news.” Gendry shrugs. “And boy, they did a great job making him look like a real piece of shit. Once that one single mother came out with her story— they all came forward outta the woodwork. Mum gave them a real nice picture of me.”

 

“Is that okay with you? If people find out?”

 

He shrugs again— “Yeah. I don’t care— Mum didn’t give me really much of a choice anyway.“

 

"Here, try this one." Tormund hands him another grey and opal speckled designer coat, tossing the inside out unicorn-hide one behind him. 

 

"Sam's gonna freak out, by the way." Jon raises his brows in warning. "Aren't those shirts really expensive?"

 

"Yeah, but he won't be back til after his tutoring right, and that's in what, two hours?" Gendry reminds him. "We'll put everything back by then." 

 

"Weren't you listening to him at dinner? Tutoring was canceled tonight." Jon smirks. "He should have actually been back by now." 

 

Gendry makes a pretend throwing up sound. “When did he say that—"

 

Tormund scampers around undressed, as Gendry darts around the room, frantically stripping, sliding the pile of clothes to the corner of the room. He scoops up the feather occamy sweater as careful as possible. "He's gonna kill me. I’m pretty sure this costs more than my home."

 

Right on cue, Sam struggles his way stumbling into the room, hugging an armful of piled books. He can barely see where he's going.

 

"Hel-lo boys," he grunts in exhaustion.

 

Peeking out from around the stack, he beams, "Oh and guess what Jon, I think I've found another good one," he protests, "and one that doesn't involve—"

 

He suddenly drops his books onto his bed, pausing with a sigh of confusion. He turns around in apathy, staring at the two half-naked, doe eyed boys. " _Why in Merlin's hell are my clothes everywhere?"_ he shouts. "And why are you two wearing my hats?"

 

Tormund and Gendry glance at each other guiltily, biting back shameful, winced grins.

 

Jon answers for them dryly. "Gendry's got a date."

 

"So... that means you needed to tear apart my closet?!" Sam huffs. He rolls his eyes before they could answer, sighing in tired frustration, "Well... who is it this time?"

 

"Margaery Tyrell," Gendry grins.

 

" _What?_ "

 

"She's a seventh year."

 

"I _know who she is_ ," he retorts. "But?  _Really_ , Gen?" he whispers sadly, " _Sansa's_ _best friend?_ "

 

Gendry narrows his eyes at him, "Oh, come on. Not you _too_?" he whines in bitter confusion. "I forgot they were friends— and Arya never said anything either, when I told her about it?!"

 

"I told you—" Tormund coughs heartily. "That's because Arya was _jealous_ , you dumb fucking twit. It’s her sister’s best friend, that’s awkward.”

 

”Why? Why is that awkward though?”

 

“Honestly, do you need it spelled out for you? She wants your _broomstick_ —" he flits his eyes down.

 

" _Tormund!_ " Sam's hand flies up to his mouth, chuckling scandalously as Gendry hides his face in agony. “Oh my god.” 

 

"What? It's not like it's not  _true—_ "

 

" _Stop_ it— okay. Just _shut_   _up_." Gendry closes his eyes at him heatedly. “Okay? I’m sick of it.”

 

”Alright... I was only saying that because—“

 

”Shut. Up. Tormund? Okay? First of all— she is _not_  jealous, we're just friends." He recites, trying to argue his standpoint convincingly, but his deepening blush counteracts his claim. "Please just drop it." 

 

" _Okay_... I’m sorry." Tormund shrugs. “I’m sorry.” Then studying his friend's face, he sighs, shaking his head in exhausted disbelief. "But... you truly are a blind fool, my friend. Like... bat blind. Oh and, uh. Sorry Sam," he apologizes, "We were about to clean it all up, so... I can—“

 

Flailing a hand out, Sam sighs in irritation, "You can still clean it up now?" He peers over at Gendry bending over to pick up a wrinkled shirt, "What did you even take?”

 

 _”Ugh my beaded Occamy_ , Gendry?! _Inside-out_!  Really, what is wrong with you?!" He snatches the feathered material from him, "On the floor, with the dog hair— Did you know this alone, costs more than everything I own." 

 

“Uh no...” Gendry blinks wide-eyed, still a bit embarrassed from before. "Sorry. And uhm— no, I haven't decided on anything," he exhales indecisively, taking off the fluffy hat. "I don't think I can pull anything off. I'm just going to wear what I had on probably." 

 

He leans over, now waving out a wrinkly, plain maroon sweater. Sam raises his brows up with feigned, sincere approval. "Oh it's... lovely. Very you."

 

"Shut up," he mutters, slipping off his worn T-shirt, throwing it at him.

 

—Suddenly, Tormund cackles in delighted surprise, shouting in the background behind them.

 

"OR—“ he sings, “You can wear _Snow's_ pretty silk dress!" he bellows out, doubling over in newly discovered excitement, laughing over by Jon's opened drawer.

 

_Shit._

 

" _No. Put that back._ " He voices sternly.

 

The others in a rut, chuckle around to face Tormund, as he chokes back, clutching onto a shimmering dark cloak. Ignoring Jon, he taunts him joyously— twirling the silky fabric in the air. “Look at this!”

 

"I said put it back." He orders flatly.

 

"Wo-ah... _Snow_ , relax... Tell me though, where did you happen to find such a _beautiful_ thing?"

 

"Listen to me, Tormund. It’s not what you think."

 

The relentless redhead wraps it around his shoulders dramatically, teasing him, "Ooh look at me, I'm _Mr. Pretty Boy_ , the moody, heartbreaker, Mr. Jon Sn—"

 

"Tormund!!" Sam cries out in enthused disbelief, striding up to him wide eyed.

 

Gendry gasps in a sharp breath of air, as Sam frantically scans him up and down in horror, "Your body's gone!"

 

"What?" Tormund looks down confused, his jaw dropping open at the invisible, empty space below his neck. He yelps in fear, _"Snow?!_   _What kind of bloody dark magic is this?!"_

 

" _No— wait a minute,_ " Sam's eyes widen in curious realization, "I know what that is! That's an _invisibility cloak_!" he arches a brow thoughtfully, "And a really large one too... I didn't think that they made them like that?”

 

”Where did you get one of those?” Gendry wonders.

 

“Yeah? They're _really rare,_ as it is? Demiguise are nearly impossible to even see, let alone to catch one." Sam cocks his head with a bright grin, "So, guess it turns out I was wrong. _This— This_ is the most expensive thing in the room. Probably worth more than all my Dad’s flying cars combined. _Seriously where did you get this, Jon?_ "

 

Wavering in thought, he scratches his beard, and then runs a hand through his soft black hair. "Uh... It was a gift. From a Professor at Durmstrang," he mumbles, surprisingly finding himself almost smiling at the memory.

 

”That’s a nice fucking gift.” Tormund chuckles.

 

A brief image flashes through Jon’s mind— about all that cloak has done for him. How much trouble it’s gotten him in and out of.

 

"I used to use it a lot when I was there..."

 

" _Use it_?! Like to spy?" Gendry asks, his face stretching into a grin, " _Wicked._ " Suddenly he bursts out wildly, "Oh ny god! Let's scare the shit out of someone with it!" He flips over to Sam, who's nodding back at him eagerly.

 

"Joffrey!" Sam squirms giggling, "That would be brilliant."

 

Jon frowns at them. "No. People can't know about this, sorry," he explains rigidly to their blatant disappointment. "Give it back. I shouldn't have had it out in the open in a drawer like that anyway."

 

He reaches out for it, as Tormund stares back at him blankly, his eyes darting over to Sam and Gendry.

 

Under the heat of Jon's stubborn gaze, he cracks— then unwraps himself idly, groaning in quiet reluctance. “Fine.”

 

•

 

Gendry spins back around in demonstration, "Well, boys? How do I look? Alright?"

 

"Like a dumb... pretty, prince," Tormund compliments sincerely, flattening the wrinkles smooth from his arms.

 

Gendry rolls his eyes, "Thanks."

 

"Want us to walk you out?" Jon taunts fondly.

 

"Funny. I think I can manage?" His thin smile starts to fade, lop-siding into a nervous grin. "Alright boys, I’m off, I'll see you later." 

 

Sam head nods back a distracted goodbye, over from on top of his bed. Laying flat on his belly, he flips aimlessly through pages and pages of variously sized books, scattered all across his maroon quilts.

 

Jon picks up another one cluelessly, holding it out in front of him. He turns it upside-down, inspecting the back, binding, and cover.

 

Tormund clears his throat for his attention, "Uhm Jon," he starts to ask quietly, petting a patiently panting Ghost from across the room.

 

"Yeah?" he peers up at him waiting.

 

"Can I... take... Ghost, for... another walk?" He studies his expression, a hopeful sparkle flickering in his eyes.

 

Jon pretends to think about it. "Sure. But not too late," he grins, as Tormund does a quick fist pump.

 

"Yes!” He lights up. “Come on, boy!"

 

•

 

Sam yawns theatrically, as Jon continues skimming through the books with him.

 

"I don't even know what I'm looking for anymore," Jon complains.

 

Then suddenly Sam stops.

 

Perking up at him he whispers, "Jon. _Here!_ " Pointing enthusiastically, he presses a stubby, promising finger onto the tattered yellow page.

 

Jon squints at it, examining the content, and then reads out loud, " _The Promised One?_ " he looks up at Sam, as the enthused boy eagerly taps the page again, "Yes. Read it for yourself— underneath this paragraph, here."

 

Jon grunts in acceptance, and then slowly starts reading out loud,

 

**_In these tall tales,_ **

**_Lies_**

**_A dark, hidden truth..._**

**_Prophecy, holds dear_**

**_Sweet, unworn_**

**_Revenge._ **

**_Fateful to take back_**

_**Earth's all of you.** _

 

He recites it back to himself silently. Confused, he glares back up at Sam, "And what does that mean?"

 

Shaking his head, Sam simply nods back wisely, "Just keep reading."

 

Jon brings his attention back skeptically... and then sighs out loud, reading the next passage.

 

**_A thousand years later,_ **

**_The Night's King will avenge._ **

**_As an iced-soul of a Horcrux,_ **

**_Joining a friend._ **

**_Together a force so powerful,_ **

**_It hides..._**

**_Arising the dead,_  ** _**with cold,** _

 

 _ **Blue—**_ he pauses, hesitating in frightful recognition, as Sam nudges him to finish the verse together—

 

**_—with cold,_ **

**_Blue blinks of an eye._ **

 

His eyes widen in familiar fear, as he quickly recites the rest.

 

_**And following in it's path,** _

_**Leads** _

_**A winter that won't end,** _

_**Waiting for** _

**The Promised One,**

_**To save us once again.** _

 

Sam grins at Jon expectantly, waiting for him to react- or say something. "You said the monster had terrible glowing  _blue_ eyes, right?"

 

He just nods, processing it all, "...Yes—" then he whispers gravely, "Where can we find more information on this? Is there anything more on 'The Promised One'?"

 

Sam bites his lip, "No... unfortunately." Then he raises a quick brow, " _We could go to the Restricted Section_... but that's out of bounds, unless we're given permission."

 

He taps his chin, puzzling an idea, "It's on the fourth floor. It could take a few days, to find a way to sneak sleeping powder for the caretaker but... that's much better than waiting for a restricted pass from the _librarian_. Those are completely pointless cause she just hovers over you like a nosy mum."

 

He glares at Jon with familiar experience, "And Walder Frey's a nasty one to get past, but he's pretty dim. We could do it."

 

Jon tosses the book onto the bed and then stands up in decision, "No. We can use my cloak." He steps over towards his bed, picking it up, "If we hurry, we can go now."

 

" _Now_?! Are you mad?" he fidgets anxiously, fumbling a book that drops to floor.  "Tormund and Gendry will be coming back soon. _It's almost midnight?_ "

 

"Then we better get going."

 

Sam's voice cracks in fear, a small throaty sound bubbling as he stutters, "No, wait— uh, Jon? No, I think we should wait until morning. I'm not mentally prepared for this." He eyes him, begging innocently.

 

"You'll be fine," he assures him. "No one will be able to see us, so there's no reason to worry. We can leave in the middle of the night when no one's awake, go get the books and come back. Easy."  

 

Sam's lip quivers unconvinced. "Mhm— yeah.  _Easy._ "

 

•

 

Having been pretending to be asleep, Jon finally bats open an eye, upon hearing Tormund and Gendry's soft snores finally overlapping in rest— echoing to a patterned low lull in the quiet of the room. 

 

He gets up, lightly shaking Sam awake, "Let's go."

 

Sam at first reluctant, follows him sleepily, as Jon tosses the cloak over their heads out by the staircase.

 

•

 

"I can't believe we're doing this. I mean it's _three in the bloody morning_ , Jon..." Sam mutters grumpily, as they both shuffle together in the dark, unseen.

 

Jon scolds him silently, holding out a dusted lantern, then tucks it hidden underneath the silk with them.

 

After firstly examining the darkly unstirred common room, they nod, acknowledging to each other that they're in the clear. And as they step down meticulously, further down the stairs, Jon notices that someone put out the fire a while ago— the only light now, coming from the pale window glow of the moon.

 

Then all the sudden, someone _gasps_ from the top of the staircase...

 

_The Girl's staircase._

 

Jon and Sam freeze. And then slowly, Jon peeks up across the room to where the sound came from.

 

He squints through the fabric as Daenerys Targaryen stands there, drawing out her gripped wand, raising it up protectively in front of her. Her pale violet eyes, staring down violently at them. _Directly at them_.

 

And to his even further suspicion, she's _also_ holding out a lit lantern...

 

"Hey— What are you doing? You're not supposed to be out of bed," she reprimands in a hushed whisper, "You'll lose us near a hundred house points—"

 

His eyes strain confusedly through the silk of the cloak.

 

_Can she see them?_

 

_No, she heard a noise, and now she's bluffing._

 

"Hello?" she echoes.

 

_She has to be bluffing._

 

Not falling for it, he nudges Sam forward and they continue shuffling over to the main door.

 

She scoffs again, "Stop? I can see you there, you know? You don't scare me." She takes a few quiet steps down the stairs.

 

Now, Jon and Sam stop in their tracks... for certain they've been caught.

 

He pulls the cloak down from his head and then scans carefully around the room for anyone else.

 

He whispers out to her cautiously in command, "Stop _talking..."_ he voices, "or we'll all get into trouble. Just come down here."

 

She sets down her lantern, folding her arms for a moment, stubbornly deciding. She mutters to herself, "Oh, why are you doing this, Dany... Why?" carefully stepping down the spiral case, shaking her head, yet following her gut. Finally stepping down the last step.

 

" _What_  on earth are you two doing—" she hushes a whisper, her strict expression now morphing to oddly amused, "—with a _cloak_ on your heads?!"

 

The boys both stare back at her blankly.

 

Her eyes suddenly widen in fear, cautiously backing away from them. "Oh no, _you haven't been—_ " she trails off. "... _The unforgivable curse_."

 

Jon arches a brow, as a smirk pricks at the corner of his lips. He removes the cloak from the rest of his body, " _We're not under the_ _Imperious curse?_ _We’re fine. This_   _is—“_  he pauses, sighing, "Well, it was _supposed_ to be, it _used_ to be, an invisibility cloak."

 

 _"_ The Demiguise hairscould be fading dull _,_ Jon. _"_ Sam whispers, " _That can happen, you know._ "

 

A pang of disappointment courses through him.

 

"Great. _No_ , _I did not know that,_ Sam."

 

"Atleast we didn't get in trouble," the nervous boy points out— though Jon freezes. Sam still has the cloak wrapped around his one arm. "Sam! Wait, look your arm?"

 

_It was invisible still... the cloak was still functional!_

 

 

"Wait but... how?" Sam shakes his head at him. "If it still works then," he breathes, "and... it didn't wear off..."

 

"Then how—" They both face back towards Dany, quietly shocked.

 

"How were _you_ able to see us?"

 

_A second before she could respond, a sudden snapping sound scares all three of them silent._

 

•

 

Flinching towards the heavy door, they hold their breaths as its lock slowly hitches open. Muffled professor voices trailing closely behind it.

 

"Quick, get under," Jon whispers to Sam. "Now, you too—“ he glances at her, holding the cloak open.

 

Nervously snapping her eyes back from them to the door, she nods, and then ducks her head underneath. 

 

They huddle close together in curious anticipation, as Dumbledore, Professor Seaworth and another indistinguishably voiced wizard stride gravely into the room. Jon quickly adjusts the cloak hastily over all three of their heads, hiding them as cleanly invisible as possible. 

 

_He hoped._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 


	12. Drogon

_September 10th, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 

_**Daenerys Targaryen was**  dreaming._

 

 

_Dreaming that she was with Drogon._

 

_Lost and abandoned by her own family— dusting away in the dry, serene lands of her first home. Her favorite lemon tree left dead— scarce, bare to the bone._

 

 _She feels a hunger pooling inside of her, swaying,_ _starving_ _dark and powerful along side the scale of her fire-breathing baby._

 

_Though with that power— the light strapped itself to something terrible; something more dark, more morose than she could ever imagine on her own— now twisting and pulling her along for the ride._

 

 _Her dreams had always been different... more vivid and more lucid than she knew others could have. But she always woke with a sense of control. Like her body knew what it had told her, and for whatever greater purpose or reason that entailed,   it_   _all happened together; whether or not her mind had caught on quick enough to be able to think about it later— that didn't matter._

 

_Because she knew what she knew—_

_And soon, she’ll_ know _what she’ll know._ That _made sense._

It always happened that way. 

 

But right now...

 

_Dany, was in that limbo—  in that cool, skyline edge of in-between dreams, where up meant down and left meant right._

 

 _She was in the cruel, mirror_   _nightlands of her last home... Except_ _something was off this time. Her astral, tectonic_ _plane_ _had knocked with another._

 _Tilted it slightly askew— and off-course she went, and  - **now -**_

 

 

_Now._

 

 _She could feel her chest—_ moving.

 

_The rise and fall of it._

 

 _Or rather lack there of—  It was constricted, and wow, it was_ hurting _her_.

 

Her sunken eyelids were heavy, evaporating slow into her skull.

Her throat burned a fire-born cloud of ash, pricking a smoke needle's singe— tunneling back out through her nose.

Her wrists were calloused and bruised by restraints. Metal at one with the bumps of her skin—

And then just as quick as the pain came— it was gone. Only to be replaced by a new pain, less physical  and more. . .

 

Feeling.

She was tired and hungry. Lonely and _sorry. Thirsty and helpless._  

_What was happening to her? There was nothing to see or hear?_

_Just the sentience of her insides._

 

_So why was this feeling so foreign to her? She was always pushed ebb and swayed a flow._

 

_But she always swayed back. Why couldn't she understand it now. Why was she slipping—_

 

She ached for the gravity and structure of what she knew—  _where was she?_

_Her thoughts. They brew to the surface, a wretched swim of relief it was to finally clear into focus._

 

_Why  did  I  run  away—_

 

_I'm sorry mother!_

 

_I  was  so  wrong._

 

_So wrong, and you were so right._

They do hurt the ones who look different. 

 

 _I'm trapped here until I die_   _and it’s all my fault._

_I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry._

 

_Dany knows now. This is not her._

 

_Nothing before could she compare to this. These were not her feelings. These were not her desires. This was not her soul._

 

 _How  do  I  get  home  now?_      

 

_It was that swaying feeling again, the one that she knew she couldn't always understand while awake. But in her dreams she always fought her way out._

_Like when she was sea sick, but the boat was_ _predictable_. _Or when she was falling, but then she could_ _fly_ _. She always found her root to climb up. She always found her anchor to rise down._

      

_Not this time._

_This time she was sinking and she had no control at all._

_Something felt wrong._

 

 _She was in_ a circle. _And she was scared._

 

_So why was this feeling so foreign to her? Why couldn't she understand it. Why was she slipping—_

_She always woke up with a sense of control. She could always fight her way out._

 

She was thirsty and lonely. Helpless and hungry. _Tired and sorry._

_Nothing before could ever compare to this. Where was she? How long had she been here?_

_Could anyone hear her screams. Did anyone care that she screamed?_

_Her throat chalked with a sharp ache she could not reach— a sharp ache she could never relieve._

_She was not allowed to._

 

 

 

 

**_Nothing compares to this. These were not her feelings. These were not her desires. This was not her soul._ **

**_How  could  I  ever  get  home  now?_  **

****

**_It was that swaying feeling again, the one that she knew she couldn't always understand while awake. But in her dreams she always fought her way out._ **

**_Like when she was sea sick, but the boat was_ ** **predictable.** **_Or when she was falling, but then she could_ ** _**fly** _ **_. She always found her root to climb down. She always found her anchor to rise up._ **

Dany catches control of her thoughts for a moment.

What was this torturous, maddening cycle? Please... just make it stop.  

When will this suffering end?! She just wanted to wake up.

 

**_Not this time._ **

**_This time she was sinking and she had no control at all._ **

 

**_Something   felt   wrong._ **

**_She was drowning in a never ending circle._ **

_Sh_ _e hated that she was so tired._ _That she may never be able_ _to_ _leave. How does one get out of a trapped dream?_

**_So why was this feeling so foreign to her? Why couldn't_** **_she understand it. Why was she slipping._**

**_She always woke up with a sense of control. She could always fight her way out._ **

 

**She was so thirsty and so hungry. So lonely and so tired. So sorry and so helpless.**

_So breathtakingly sad._

**_Nothing before could ever compare to this purgatory circuit. She was exhausted. Where was she? How long had she been here?_ **

 

I was so wrong.

You were so right.

_They did hurt the ones who looked different._

_I'm trapped forever_ _and it’s all my fault._  

 

**_These were not_ her  _feelings_**

_**These were not her desires** _

 

_**And this was not her soul—**  it's his._

_Drogon?! Where is he?!_

_Nothing before could he compare to this._

 

These were his feelings.

His strangled desires, his innocent soul.

 

 

_I can never come home again._

 

 

 

 

_This was never her soul to take._

_Not anymore._

 

" _Jon!_ "    •

 

Her pale, stricken eyes flicker open wide, shooting up onto her elbows in a blind panic, panting in unrecognizable distress. She sits up in her bed, recovering from that excruciating nightmare.

She places a quiet hand over her chest, feeling her heart thudding blue against her palm.   _Wow, that was unbearable..._

 

But what was unbearable? A tantalizing mantra still buzzed around in her mind like smoke— the same words, sung in melancholic repetition. _This was not her feelings?_ _This was not her... something—_

Yeah—  _something..._

And it’s gone.  Down, down into her subconscious. Dormant to stay for awhile.

 

She couldn't remember what had frightened her. What had lit up her adrenal gland like a swarm of jagged, sentient bees. And it’s strange because she remembers the beginning of her dream with Drogon perfectly clear.

They were alone together in the wastelands of her barren home, which was— Wait, where was she,  _the desert?_

 

Okay, so not her real home in London— but it felt like home in another way, so much that she could taste the bitter rock salt in the air as if it were real. She could feel the edged shine of Drogon's scales like he were truly right next to her. Like he had grown a full two sizes bigger than she last saw him.

She could feel the capacity, the emptiness in her heart when she realized that there was not a single person, not a single soul around them.

 

So what had scared her so beyond intensely, that she had felt real tears streaming down her cheeks when she woke? The ones she still feels now—

 

Had Drogon been _calling her,_ in her... _dream_? Was that even possible? 

She hated that she couldn’t remember. 

 

She touches the wet on her cheek and then the stickiness of her forehead. Her silver hair clung to her neck in strands, while the rest of it still held the loose waves she brushed through last night.

 

Driven slightly by a sudden urge, she searches, squinting around at the black mist of the room. She pushes up her silvery laced sleeves in determination, and checks over at Arya, Gilly and Meera all sound asleep in their beds.

 

She leans over her bedside, retrieving her wand from her nightstand, then dramatically pulls down the covers from her chest. 

 

On a mission, she scoots herself out of bed, staring foggily into the darkness. The restless sound of Arya's little snores and the heavy ticking sound of the clock, further drives her decision to go for a walk. She slides on her warm slippers, then crouches down to the floor, carefully crawling under her bed.

 

" _Lumos."_

 

She points her wand around, softly illuminating the space underneath, searching for her old lamp. (Magic detection spells were a whole too much of a risk to use her wand past curfew, she learned that lesson a long time ago.) The lighted tip of her wand dims back down, as she lifts out her dusted lantern, standing back up, taking a few first careful steps, and then quietly, she walks out of the room...

 

  
•

 

  
Dany was unable to hold out for air any longer. Cautiously, she shudders out a slow, hot breath, and inhales deep.

 

Jon shivers at the sudden warm air tickling at the back of his neck. He holds the lantern closer to his chest, as the three of them hover anxiously under his invisibility cloak.

 

Their faces stay frozen still in the darkness, as they watch the scene in front of them unveil in a petrified trance.

 

They listen carefully as the professors bicker on...

 

_"...I don't see why we have to wait any longer, Davos," Dumbledore whispers gravely._

 

_"Because the rubbish press are blubbering idiots, that's why."_

 

_A stoic man, with long blue robes and a shiny bald head, speaks out wisely, "It took a student of mine tonight, sir... How much longer are we going to keep people in the dark?"_

 

What was the Spider doing in the Gryffindor wing?

 

_Dumbledore sighs with careful sadness, "Now, we don't know that it took the boy for certain, Varys. He's missing, it's not a death sentence."_

 

 _Professor Seaworth grunts darkly. "Pardon me, sir, but the boy_ was _serving detention in the Dark Forest! And Peter saw him— trapped in there with_ _the creature. He saw it with his own bloody two eyes!"_

 

 _The door eerily creaks open again, and Peter Baelish slinks in_ _swiftly, in his shadowy green robes._

 

_Baelish also leads in a white-haired man behind him, Barristan Selmy— striding in strongly, in his dark maroon red nightgown._

 

_"Anything, professors?" Dumbledore asks them, while in the background, a cursing Caretaker Frey, straggles in behind, quickly squeezing through the closing door._

 

_"No such luck." Professor Baelish shakes his head solemnly._

 

_Professor Selmy side-eyes him carefully. "Yes... We couldn't find the boy, Albus.” He whispers more sincerely, “He's gone, I'm afraid."_

 

_Dumbledore tilts his head down gravely. "Alright, thank you professors."_

 

_"For now, we will inform his parents," he says, thoughtfully threading his long fingers through his newly graying beard._

 

_"I'll send an owl to Ned immediately. I'm sure he'll come down here as soon as he can."_

 

_Professor Seaworth squints his wrinkly eyes in confusion. "An owl, to Durmstrang? Why?"_

 

 _Varys rolls his eyes, swaying to him darkly, "Well it_ was _his poor son for god sakes," he bows his head in sorrow,_ _"Such a bright student, little Brandon Stark..."_

 

Dany's breath catches.

 

Her small fingers clutch into Jon's warm sweater, a small gasp slipping her lips in silent denial. She doesn't even mean to press her nose into the fabric of his back, but she does, whispering to herself, "...Bran."

 

Jon tilts his head at her halfway, his hooded-dark eyes promising. He nods protectively to stay quiet.

 

 _"Well what about_ him _? ...The other boy?"_

 

_Baelish points up towards the Gryffindor Boys Dormitories. However to Dany, it seemed like he was pointing directly at Jon's door._

 

_Dumbledore lifts his lantern, peering up there wistfully unsure. "Ah, well... I think... there may be another, possible option for him now."_

 

 _He pushes up his spectacles in measurable thought and lowers his lantern back down, judging the professors awaiting expressions_ _._

 

_"If Ned Stark decides to come to his family and son's aid here at Hogwart's..." he proposes, "Then of course, we will welcome him back with open arms... if he so desires to stay— for their protection."_

 

_Seaworth nods surely, "The noble man he is, he will most certainly try, sir. Those children are his life."_

 

_Dumbledore nods in agreement. "Right. However there may be a solution we could assemble for him..."_

 

_"With Professor Arryn's sudden ill take of absence... Ned could take over his Defense Against the Dark Arts position..."_

 

_"— But... Headmaster? I thought I—" Baelish huffs out pathetically._

_Then attempting to hide his now obvious jealousy, he switches his expression, repeating_ _more politely, "I mean, Albus, sir... Do you really think Ned Stark to be capable?"_

 

_"You know, he may be distraught, over the loss of his son, and... I, have been waiting to teach that class for quite some time now... I think I could do well."_

 

_"Alas, yes of course, Littlefinger. But we do need you for Potions," Dumbledore rejects quietly._

 

_The Headmaster brings his attention again up to Jon's room, relating the conversation back, "If Ned Stark accepts, then we might not have to send the boy away again... Ned will want him to be with him this time."_

 

_"And now... with his son, Brandon..." he trails off grimly, "Well. I believe we must keep the other boy safe here, for now."_

 

_"Hmm, very well then. It’s settled." Varys agrees. “The boy stays here.”_

 

_Suddenly, Walder Frey sniffs his oily nose out in the air, "Wait sir. What's... that?" he snorts, following the smell across the room._

 

 

” _What’s what?” Professor Baelish scoffs._

 

 

_”That smell...” he sniffs again, stumbling over towards the three shocked, Gryffindors hiding under the cloak by the girls chambers._

 

_"Do  ya  smell  that  candle?" he hisses._

 

Jon braces his arm around Dany and Sam, slowly backing himself and them away from the nearing caretaker. His adrenaline rushes hot, as he grips a careful, white knuckle hold onto his lantern against his chest.

 

_Dumbledore sighs in pitied exhaustion, whispering gently,"What's happening now, Walder?"_

 

_Frey swims over daringly past Jon, Dany and Sam, then peers up the staircase. "Smells like a tiny fire," he raises his eyebrows at Dumbledore, appealing his greedy need for approval._

 

 _"That means there's a student outta_ bed _..."_

 

Dany, cups a slow hand up to her mouth in realization, "Oh no... _my_ lantern," she breathes silently, glancing up in panic at the top of the Girls' staircase.

 

She bites back her tongue in frustration, squinting hopelessly through the fabric, trying to catch a glimpse to where she left it. 

 

She pauses, upon not spotting it in its original placement, and then relaxes in relief.

 

Though it's now more odd because ... _now—_ Now it's simply, just _gone_.

 

_Uh oh._

 

She frowns, now a bit more concerned who moved it for her...

 

_"Come, take a closer look, sir."_

 

The three students hold their breaths, as the professors shuffle over skeptically, staring lengthily across the room.

 

Their eyes stop briefly at about where the invisible Gryffindors were standing—

 

But their vision drifts onward, luckily with no apparent sign of recognizing a cloaked Dany and Sam, gripping onto Jon for dear life.

 

_"I don't smell or see anything," Seaworth mumbles shortly, scratching his balding head._

 

_"Time to go, Walder," Dumbledore issues flatly._

 

_"But sir? That's a hot lantern that is! A student is awake, sir!"_

 

 _Raising his brows high above his half-moon spectacles, he protests calmly, "Ah, well if a student is up at this hour of the night, getting ahead on his or her reading, then it's only fair they should be rewarded for their actions..._ _Certainly not punished..."_

 

 _The squirrelly squib coughs out, begging in defense, "No, no sir, that's not what I meant—"_ _Dumbledore  gestures  for  him lowly. "Now Walder, come along now, we have a more serious matter to attain to," he echoes to the others, gliding away gracefully._

 

_A pathetic, muttering Frey follows them out reluctantly. And then with a thud, the door finally shuts behind them, leaving the cloaked three students alone in the dark._

 

•

 

"Do you think, that  it's  safe  now?" Sam quivers, finally letting go of his death grip on Jon's shoulder.

 

"Aye, I dunno." Jon whispers gruffly, pulling the cloak off of them, "I hope so."

 

Sam gulps at his vagueness, "Uhm. We're not still _going_... are we?"

 

Jon rubs a hand over his eye, tired and now bitter, "No Sam, I think this was enough for tonight..." he says, bunching the cloak up in his arms. "I'm sorry though, I shouldn't have made you come out with me... We won't do this again." 

 

Sam groans in relief, sliding a sweaty hand across his forehead. “Thank Merlin.”

 

Dany, still in a shaken daze, holds her elbows against her stomach. "I have to tell Arya..."

 

* * *

 

 

 

 


	13. The Forbidden Forest

_September 10, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 

 

 **Jon's eyes** **ring** suddenly with sincere empathy, remembering Bran.

 

_Oh right, she knew him. Shit._

His light brows arch up at her softly, "Don't tell her... yet. Dumbledore doesn't think he's dead, remember. Trust him. Don't scare her upset before you have to." He peers away, calmly biting his lip, "Maybe he'll turn up by morning anyway."

 

She fidgets with the sleeve of her nightgown, and then glances up, shaking her head at him strictly, "You don't _really_ believe that, do you?” She shakes her head, “No. I have to tell her, she deserves to know."

 

"I don't know if that—"

 

"That's her _little brother,_ you know..." she reminds them, "And he's out there, _cold_ , and alone, and afraid... in the _Dark... Forest_. Oh my goodness." Her moon-reflected glowing eyes gradually fade darker, as she starts to imagine the worst.

 

Jon's eyes attempt to soothe her panic, though she doesn't even notice, now facing away from him. Sam bubbles out a nervous laugh, having been pacing anxiously in the background. He mumbles wildly to himself about the monsters, steering himself straight for a near panic attack.

 

She flits her eyes over him, glaring at his apathy to Bran, judging him.Then suddenly, she flips to both of them scorning, " _And by the way,_  just where were you two _going_  tonight, anyway?"

 

Jon watches Sam nonchalantly take a break from his pacing, stopping merely to turn to her. "Restricted Section.” Only to slip right back into his muttering crisis.

 

" _Restricted Section?"_ Her nose wrinkles up, "That's out of bounds..." she squints, now somewhat sadly impressed.

 

"I'm sorry.” Sam perks up again, "But am I the _only one_ , who's a bit preoccupied about the bloody _creature_ they were talking about? One, that’s apparently now on the _loose_? Wait—“

 

He sifts his eyes over at Jon in fearful realization.

 

"Uhm Jon... You don't think it was the same one as...  _your—_ "

 

Dany arches a newly curious eyebrow at them, as Jon scolds him silently with his eyes, shortly smacking his arm with the back of his hand.

 

_Since meeting him, Jon’s noticed Sam has a bit of trouble about when to keep his mouth shut._

 

Dany puffs out a laugh, scrutinizing the two of them and their pathetic attempt at a cover-up.

 

 _Of course she’s caught on._ _She doesn’t miss a thing._

 

“What? Am I not allowed to know?" she crosses her arms.

 

"No, it's just," Jon exhales with a nervous smile, stepping back, "You wouldn't understand..."

 

“Oh, I wouldn't understand...” she repeats fervently. “Hmm... well, how’s this for a guess?” She hesitates for a moment, gesturing pointlessly, "You think it could be the Others? Right? ...You both, you think it was a white walker?"

 

Sam and Jon both snap to each other comedically in jaw-dropped confusion.

 

" _How_ in the bloody hell do you know about that?" Sam retorts wildly.

 

Dany smirks back at him smugly. "I saw a book you checked out the other day."

 

“You were _spying_ on me?" 

 

She tilts her head at him childishly, "No— I was spying on _him_ ," she motions over to Jon, "Clearly, people don't understand the truth... to his situation." She bites her lip, peering away sheepishly, "People like... myself, for example."

 

_What... really?_

 

Jon, delightedly surprised, smiles at her, quietly endeared. However Sam in contrast, was thoroughly offended.

 

" _Clearly_ you need to learn more about what the word _privacy_ means—“ though he instantly regrets his audascity, helplessly glancing over at Jon, waiting for him to back him up.

 

"Okay, let’s just back track a minute, Sam." Jon says coolly, "Let’s look at the bigger picture, here."

 

“Okay.” Sam sighs, then finally looks up at him, a bit more relaxed.

 

"Okay. Now we don't know what creature attacked Brandon Stark. Or, if it even took him at _all_ for that matter."

 

He stares into their eyes, assuring them. "But the real factor here, is that my situation, has nothing to do with what happened tonight."

 

Dany chuckles dryly, not buying it.

 

He pats a light clap on Sam's shoulder, "Now let's go to bed before we all get caught. Okay?"

 

"You really don't know, do you?" Dany asks him.

 

"Know... what?"

 

Her eyebrows shoot up into her forehead, retorting, "Don't be so dimly _modest_ , Jon Snow. They were talking about you."

 

He squints back at her, almost amused. " _I'm sorry_ _?_ "

 

"That's it— I'm going to bed," Sam huffs dryly. "Goodnight." He slumps away heading towards the Boys' Stairs, expecting Jon to follow. But him and Dany just watch in silence. Halfway up the stairs, he stops, turning down below him, "Uh Jon...? Are you coming?"

 

After an awkwardly long moment, Jon whispers up there, deciding, "— No, just one minute Sam, I'll be right in." 

 

Sam frowns down at him with annoyed disapproval.

 

She half-smirks back at him, whispering vainly, "Is he always like that?"

 

Jon follows her gaze guiltily, until he can almost see Sam step back into their room. "Uh no... Typically, just the thought of monsters will do that to him." He shrugs, "I mean, I should be the one upset... you're the one who called me _dim._ "

 

Her shoulders fall, hiding a poorly hidden, low smirk, "Sorry, I just meant..." She pauses, sliding a hand over her forehead, "I just meant, that you honestly, didn't hear what Dumbledore said? ...Jon, your situation has everything to do with what happened tonight?"

 

He blinks back at her confused,  absently scratching his beard. "Arrite. How?"

 

"Well, first, Littlefinger—I mean Professor Baelish, pointed directly at _your_ room... And then, Dumbledore said they were going to _move_ you again— to another place... for your safety, Jon. The other boy they were talking about was  _you_.”

 

She crosses her arms impatiently, posing the question, "And. For what  _obvious_ reason do you think they would want to move you again?"

 

He shrugs back, faintly amused by her frustration.

 

" _Because,"_  she scoffs, "that same exact threat that attacked you at Durmstrang, is now _obviously_ , here at Hogwarts. Or was here anyway."

 

He sniffs up in denial. "Well, no? We don't exactly know that for sure, do we? It's not _only_ following after me..."

 

“You can't know that for sure, either?” She gazes at him intensely for a moment, taking Jon aback. “Tell me the truth. Did it follow you already? The first day of school on the train? What was that?”

 

Jon’s slightly no longer amused by her keen intellect for putting things together.

 

”I’m... not sure.” He twists his mouth into a pout. “The dementors got to me before I saw anything...”

 

”But it _could_ have been one right?” She argues.

 

”Yes, I guess.” 

 

“Well, in that case, we need to tell Dumbledore immediately. Because we all may not be doomed _tomorrow_ , but— I just have this... really bad feeling... that something terrible is coming. Like there's something inside of me, telling me, that I have to do something about it."

 

He shrugs at her again, more stubbornly though. No longer hinting any kind of smile.

 _She_ _has no idea what she’s_ _talking about._

 

"And that same part of me, knows that you're right, Jon. Something really is coming for us all."

 

He gazes back at her with an undecodable expression for a moment, searching for something unknown in her eyes.

 

But then just as quickly, he turns it off, walking away towards the stairs. And with a switch, he makes light of the mood, teasing back at her, "I think you just don't know when to let things go, Dany." 

 

“Not if I know I'm right." She follows behind him. His eyes crinkle a smile at that, bending down for his cloak off of the floor.

 

He turns to face her, his gaze now slightly more serious, "Look, I'm sorry, Daenerys... But neither you, nor Sam, _saw_ what I _saw_. And neither of you _experienced_ the... _aftermath_ that I went through.”

 

 _“Aftermath_? What do you mean?"

 

He wrinkles his forehead, "Okay look. I saw something... in the woods at school.” He cringes at the memory, “I thought it was a man, but it was one of those ice walkers... and I saw it kill something— like a centaur, I think.” He takes a breath, “So Ghost and I ran back to the grounds, and then I told everyone. But— long story short, this is just so much bigger than just us... _kids_. Okay? Let the professors handle it— cause that's their job. I was foolish for trying. It only made things worse, you just have to trust me. They are handling it."

 

“It wasn't foolish if you were trying to protect people. By warning them."

 

“It _was_ foolish if my friends got hurt because of me," he echoes, his dark eyes blaring into her. "They thought they could... I don’t even know why— I think they were curious by the idea of a monster and went out looking for it themselves and—they never came back, okay?” He takes a shallow, guilty breath. “That’s when I went looking for them. And then got attacked. And blamed, for everything."

 

“Oh...” she shivers, forcing herself away from his intense gaze. “I’m so sorry... I didn’t know.” She peers up at the open window, as a bitter breeze blows in, calming him back down, his cool dark eyes, heating warmer.

 

A thought lingers in the back of his mind. _Why on earth did he just tell her that? How does he know he can trust her?_

 

_All logic is telling him he can’t, but somehow— he just does..._

“It’s okay.” He arches up his brows at her softly, "And thank you, Dany. Seriously. For believing me. But before I can go accuse anything like that again, we need more information."

 

Her eyes dance away from his own, and then she nods back innocently, understanding him.

 

Jon takes one foot backwards up the steps, "Well. Goodnight. We can talk more about this tomorrow, if you want?" He glares at her fondly, subtly observing the length of her moon-glowed nightgown. 

 

She nods back slowly, her eyes shining deviantly, now stepping a few feet closer to him. She twists her mouth to the side, looking into his eyes to accept his offer.

 

His mouth goes a bit dry for some reason, as she touches over his forearm. The sudden awareness of her touching him, even through the fabric of his shirt was nearly intoxicating.

 

"We _will_  talk tomorrow, Jon Snow. When we're looking in the Restricted Section."

 

He opens his mouth to say something back, but then freezes upon hearing a woman suddenly clear her throat from the top of the Girls' Staircase. 

 

"There will be no need for that _, Ms. Targaryen._ "

 

Brienne the Head Girl stands there, stalking lowly from up the top of the stairs behind her. Her tone, dripping with disappointment.

 

Dany hastily flips around, as Jon coughs casually, backing up away from her, further up the steps.

 

"Brienne—“ she starts, striding towards the Girls' Stairs, preparing a good apology for her. "Brienne, I'm sorry, I was just going—"

 

"Ah—I don't want to hear it, Dany," she scolds, her eyes noticeably lower-ringed with tired, dark circles.

 

She holds out a lantern, swinging it lightly in front of her. "This is yours, I presume? I found it hours ago." She chuckles without humor, "But strangely, no one was around...?" now hawk eyeing her and Jon, squinting suspiciously.

 

“And it wasn't until just before, that I awoke to another _lovely_ noise and then I discovered your empty bed," she snaps, articulating every syllable with shame.

 

She scans her eyes back over at Jon, raising her blonde brows protectively, "Or does this lantern belong to you, Mr. Snow?"

 

He opens his mouth to say something again... but nothing comes out. Dany finally reaches the top of the stairs.

 

Brienne flashes him another dishonoring expression, and then holds out the lantern for Dany, as she reaches for it, admitting that it was hers, apologizing again.

 

Jon steps down the steps, thoughtlessly defending, "It wasn't her fault— It was my idea." Dany snaps her head around in disbelief, her eyes glaring at him sharply.

 

“Oh was it? Well, in that case," Brienne declares, "Fifty points will be taken from you, Mr. Snow. For a terrible, poor case of judgement."

 

She skims over the two of them in warning. "And I'll have you know, that two students, meeting _alone_ after curfew..." her voice heightens in ridiculous disbelief. "That— is a strictly forbidden rule at Hogwarts, Mr. Snow... Or were things not like that in Norway?"

 

She glances back at Dany scowling, "I mean what were you thinking?"

 

The small Gryffindor shrugs, walking past her back to her room, while Jon still watches her from the stairs.

 

"Oh no, no no—not so fast," Brienne clasps Dany's wrist. She holds her chin up, strictly adding to their sentence. "The _both_ of you— will be serving Detention, tomorrow." She lets go of her arm with a tired smirk.

 

" _In the Forbidden Forest_."

 

 

 

* * *

 


	14. Burning Ash and Lemongrass

_September 10th, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 

 **Jon**   **was** balancing his cauldron in one arm, and his three textbooks in the other, heading to Potion's class. He slumps himself heavily down the stone steps beyond the base of the castle. Rushing students brush by him coldly— shoulder checking him, like he were invisible.

 

_Better the cold shoulder than everyone staring at him..._

 

He loathed the new attention.

 

He heads down the stairs, alone, into the Hogwarts dungeons, wrinkling his nose at the nearing smell.

 

The Dungeon's stone walls shimmered a glossy film of light mildew. Jon shudders at the newly chilled air, now walking a bit more cautiously down the corridor. He feels the air begin to tighten, cooling sharp in temperature.

 

"Jon!" A voice calls bluntly from behind him, “Wait!”

 

Her voice.

 

He tilts his head around to see— but she's already there, skipping up to his side, bright eyed. Slowing down her steps next to him was Daenerys Targaryen, clutching neatly onto her stack of Potion textbooks.

 

"Hello," she smirks at him dryly- the slight undertone of sarcasm in her expression unnerved him.

 

He nods back at her quietly, "Uh, hi..."

 

The Potion's classroom neared closer as they walked, so Dany suddenly pulls him over to the side wall, shoving him aside-

 

 _Jesus_. 

 

"So our detention tonight... I was thinking—"

 

Jon instantly interrupts, "Yeah, I'm really sorry about that. We should've went to bed when we had the chance. It was my fault."

 

She sighs hastily. "No, it's fine. But I was thinking... Maybe we could talk about a plan of some kind, you know, before we go into the forest."

 

"A plan? A plan for _what_?"

 

She dips her chin down flatly, "To search for Bran. While we're in there?"

 

Jon blinks back at her a thoroughly confused, judging expression. 

 

_"What?"_

 

"I know my way around in there _quite well_ , actually," she boasts.

 

He narrows down his eyes at her with a faint smile. "You're joking, right? We're not going in there?" he coughs casually, "They wouldn't allow a student to go back in there, after last night?"

 

"Oh, really? Well if that were so, why haven't we been notified?" She argues condescendingly, "Because as far as I'm aware, no one has told us otherwise... so why haven't they? Brienne doesn't know about Bran... Arya still doesn't know about it.  _Nobody_ knows about it, except for us, and Sam."

 

"What? So were supposed to just pretend like we didnt hear any of that?" he says, nervously regripping his supplies, holding them stronger in his arms.

 

She raises her dark brows high at the obviousness of it, " _Yes?_ How else would you like to explain to someone how we know, what we know? Especially after last night when you so clearly convinced me that we can't tell anyone."

 

Okay, she got him there.

 

A few Slytherin students pass them, searing some harsh, critical looks in their direction.

 

Dany shifts over further, pulling him by his robes, "Hey. We won't be alone, okay? We'll have an adult with us?" then her shoulders drop sadly. "And Bran's out there remember? Maybe there's a _reason_  that we both got detention."

 

"Hold on..." He gapes at her for a moment, scrunching his face in slow realization. "You  _want_ to go out there don't you?" he accuses her with a smirk. "You'd rather _die_ than get in trouble again, is that it?"

 

" _Were not going to_ die, Jon _Snow_. And yes worse, I would prefer not get caught this time."

 

She _really_ needs to sort out her priorities...

 

"This isn't a game, Dany," he averts his eyes, now walking away, towards the classroom. He shakes his head, stubbornly turning around, "And if for some reason, they don't switch our detention to another room, I _am_ going to tell someone."

 

She crosses her arms, seeming to know him better than himself. "You won't tell anyone anything." 

 

_Okay... she was starting to get annoying._

 

Suddenly Tormund, Sam, and Gendry hurry up behind Jon, almost pushing him into the classroom, completely oblivious to Dany eyeing him from across the hall.

 

She follows in behind them, ignoring the boys, as she passes by to go to sit up front with Meera and Arya.

 

The boys take their seats, as Tormund suddenly scans around the room anxiously. "Where's Gilly?" 

 

Sam's shoulders fall, frowning at him sadly, "Oh. She didn't receive a high enough score on her O.W.L.S. last year... for her to continue potions."

 

“Oh no,” Tormund shakes his head solemnly, “that’s just terrible.” 

He narrows his eyes in accusation, now scowling at the pitying red-head. "Which now concerns me... how in merlin’s hell are _you_ here?"

 

Tormund grins back cheekily, pretending to whisper, "Well, I uh,  _cheated._ Off you, remember?"

 

Sam coughs out, disapproving, "Oh... that's just great, Tormund? You know this is Advanced Potions? I'm not helping you with anything."

 

Suddenly distracted, they all turn around towards a familiar-sounding, cackling student. "HA— oh my _mother_ will be hearing about this."

 

In an attention seeking entrance, a loud-mouthed, blonde Slytherin boy struts into the dewy stone classroom, chuckling evilly with his two friends.

 

 _Joffrey Baratheon_ spots Gendry immediately.

 

Jon hadn't been here long, but he'd already hated Joffrey more than anybody.

 

And with his cocky gait, the boy dip strides over to Gendry, doting a very obviously, jealous grin.

 

"Well, well, what do we have here..." he taunts him, turning around smartly to his teeth flash-grinning friend, Ramsay Bolton.

 

Gendry squints up at them cautiously, as Ramsay rubs a rough, demeaning hand across his shoulder.

 

"I dunno, Joff... _This one_ looks like a scared, _frightened_ little _bastard_ if you ask me..." His unstable, wide eyes burn, lit with insanity. An air-headed Robin Arryn chuckles stupidly behind them on his tip toes.

 

"What do you two want?" Gendry bites back.

 

"Oh nothing... Waters," Joffrey teases, "I just wanted to talk about your little pity date last night with my girlfriend. I... just wanted to know how it went."

 

Gendry narrows his eyes. "Oh. _Your girlfriend_? That's odd... considering she's the one who asked me out..."

 

Joffrey scoffs back pathetically, about to spit back another comeback, when a tisking Professor Baelish squeezes a cold hand onto his shoulder.

 

"How about we _take our seats_ for now, Mr. Baratheon..." the smug faced Professor murmurs, "And you too, Mr. Bolton."

 

The two smirking boys first glance at each other before walking away. Ramsay beams back tauntingly once more at Gendry, as Robin scurries along pathetically behind them.

 

Gendry rolls his eyes at them in secret, craning his neck around to whisper something witty to Tormund, but then he suddenly stops... upon catching Arya's warm brown eyes, glaring heatedly back at him.

 

Jon watches him slump back quietly in his seat.

 

Professor Baelish walks up to the front of the room, clearing his throat huskily, "Alright students, I assume that you all have your materials for today." He stirs at his already bubbling cauldron on his wooden desk.

 

He lowers his head, inhaling the aroma longingly. "Today class, we will be brewing _Amortentia,_  the  most  powerful  love  potion  in  the  world."

 

All the girls in the class, faces light up, giggling to each other in quiet excitement.

 

"Yes, yes..." He walks down the aisle, "And if done so properly, it should smell, quite exactly like your sweetest and most secretive desires," he swoons darkly.

 

Gendry scoffs out in disgust, mouthing to Sam, "Creep."

 

Baelish eyes him dangerously, taking a blissful sip of  _s_ omething from his goblet. "And you will raise your hand when you are finished, so I can give you my approval. I'll also be coming around for available help, when you get to work." 

 

 

The professor sighs out loud, when they don't move, gesturing to them all condescendingly. "So _... go ahead and take out your ingredients_ from your cauldrons...  _And get to work_."

 

"Jon?" Sam whispers quietly, as he lifts out his first materials. "What was Dany saying to you, before class?"

 

Jon eyes the ingredients thoughtfully, and then copies Sam's movements, taking out his Ashwinder eggs and Moonstone, then exhales in quiet frustration, "She thinks we'll still have detention in the Dark forest tonight." 

 

Sam lifts a shocked brow at him. "What? They can't do that?" He chuckles, "They wouldn't... Dumbledore won't allow it," he assures him, although he doesn't sound at all too confident.

 

"Yeah, well, I dunno now," he admits shortly.

 

Watching Sam carefully lay out his Peppermint leaves, he frowns in confusion, "Wait don't the instructions say to... crush the pearls first?"

 

Sam shakes his head thoroughly, as he scrapes his Peppermint leaves with his own tool. "No, no. Do it my way, trust me, it works better than the instructions."

 

"Okay..." Jon shrugs at him carelessly. Mimicking his directions.

 

He subtly brings up Dany again, "By the way, can you believe, that after all that fuss, she didn't even tell Arya," he huffs lowly. "...It's crazy. I think she actually  _wants_ to go in there."

 

Sam smirks at him first, but then scoffs in uncertainty, "Well, you told her not to. And in where? ...The forest?"

 

"Yeah." Jon nods, crushing his moonstone into a soft powder. "And yeah I told her not to, but I didn't think she was the type to listen what people tell her to do."

 

"That's a good thing she listens to you at least..." Sam spoons in some of the dust, huffing slowly, "Cause she surely doesn't listen to anyone else. And you know what, I never truly realized _how_ mad she was before last night..." he smirks a lopsided grin, "like she's honestly delusional."

 

"She's not mad..." Jon hums softly, "I mean... she's a bit off, I think... But I think she has a good heart."

 

Sam stops pressing the powder with his ladle. "Oh... Jon," he tries to read his expression carefully. "You're not thinking about her... in _that_ sorta way, are you?"

 

"What?"

 

Sam sighs at him, his expression growing tired, "I think you should know by now, that I'm no _git_ , Jon." He continues crushing the silvery white stone, snooting his nose over, "I saw the way you looked at her last night..."

 

"What?" Jon huffs at him defensively. "I didn't look at her... in a _way_..." he scoffs.

 

"I mean, I obviously _looked_ at her, but like— where else would I look—“

 

"Right..." Sam smirks back lightly, patting his back, "Now, I don't blame you for it, Jon, but hear me out. Whatever she's planning, just don't get involved, okay?" he breathes out heavily. "Daenerys Targaryen is _trouble_ ," he emphasizes warning, "Reckless, _impulsive_ , trouble."

 

"That's a bit dramatic."

 

Sam first checks up a glance at Baelish, as the man unnecessarily bends over, helping a pretty, young witch stir her cauldron, hand over hand. “Ugh...”

 

He whispers to Jon sadly, "Okay. Let me explain this. _She_  thinks _you're_ dangerous... and you're _not_ ," he gestures to him in verification, "Now, I'm just warning you not to think of her that way because she's not seeing you the same. Once she realizes you're not a psycho, she'll get bored. No offense."

 

"What? If she thought I was dangerous, why would she keep trying to talk to me?"

 

"Because she _fancies_ danger, Jon!" He chuckles, as if it were obvious, "She goes out of her way looking for it. And she may have good intentions, considering she wants to solve the world's problems in a day... but when she gets the information that she wants, out of you, she'll move on."

 

"Well..." Jon squints into his sparkling, smoky pot, "no offense, Sam. But I think this is different."

 

“Yeah?” Sam points over to a handsome boy in a maroon sweater, laughing across the room. "Look over there," he head nods. "Good old  _Daario Naaharis_.”

 

"What about him?"

 

"Well, last year—  _Daario_ told all of us that he was bloody _dating_ Daenerys Targaryen." Sam raises his eyebrows at the ridiculousness of it. "Meanwhile, when she figured out what she needed out of him, for whatever it was she was looking for, I think— it was like about his family's house elves or something weird—" He rolls his eyes, " _She shut him out cold, in the drop of a hat. No explanation._ "

 

Jon eyes the other dark haired boy cautiously.

 

 _Dating_ her...

 

"She thinks she's a part of this _greater_ purpose. Like helping the ones who can't speak for themselves— blah blah blah," Sam goes on, "It's mad. Like she actually believes that house elves shouldn't be _house_ elves? Like where would they go?" he chuckles. " _And if I'm for certain about one thing, Jon._ It's that she does not care a single smidge, whose _feelings_ she steps on along the way— if it'll help the greater good. Just... be careful with her."

 

Then in a quick whiff, Sam's cauldron starts bubbling wildly over the brim.

 

"Ohhh, look at this," Baelish sneaks over, upon hearing the finished potion. "Oh my, I think we may have our first brew. Here we go, class. Let's take a look—"

 

He leans over, smelling the flowing pop-brewing liquid. " _Ah..._ " he nods contently, "Well done, Mr. Tarly..."

 

Then he looks down at it again, suddenly puzzled. "Although I don't quite understand why it looks lighter in color... It should be a dark magenta... not a pale pink... But other than that, it does seem exquisitely right, indeed. 15 points to Gryffindor."

 

The professor smirks at their whole row, "Go ahead boys, take a whiff. Wow—" he realizes, laughing, "This actually seems to be extremely potent."

 

Tormund instantly lifts his head and dips it all the way into the pot.

 

Baelish yanks him back by his hair, scolding him, "Not so close, boy? You don't want to bloody pass out."

 

“ _Wow_.” Tormund peers back over at Gendry in a dreamlike daze, "Wow... that's... so... _lovely_ ," he breathes.

 

"Well what does it smell like?” Gendry wonders, “Or who...” he wiggles his eyebrows.

”—No, I smell hot _cinnamon rolls_... and four-leaf clovers... like it's right here, in front of me!"

 

"Lame." Gendry laughs heartily and then slowly bends over to inhale the pink concoction himself, “Move over.”

 

Immediately his shoulders relax— and then he sinks back into his chair. " _Ohhhhhhh._ That _is_ nice..." He slouches, sinking even lower, "That smells like..." he squints, now somewhat confused, "Wait a minute... that kinda smells like _dog?_ "

 

The class giggles. He goes on, "But wait, dog— with a hint of pretty winter lilies... and fried turkey." The class giggles again.

 

"Alright, that's enough Mr. Waters," Professor Baelish quips. "I don't even want to know what that's relating to."

 

•

  
After all the silly commotion of students, smelling each other's love potions, and teasing each other until the very end of class, Jon stares down critically at his greenish, golden goo. Bubbling ever so slightly in his own clumpy pot. He decides to privately take a quick sniff at Sam's.

 

"I thought you didn't want a turn?" Sam asks, innocently catching him.

 

Jon smirks a shrug, trying to hold down the warm fizzy feeling floating up from the pit of his stomach.

 

"Well, whats it smell like?" 

 

"Like chocolate... _frogs_ ," he exhales, "...and burning smoke. Ash... with lemongrass..."

 

He comes back down from the high, glancing back at Sam who was grinning at him scandalously.

 

Sam gathers his books, "Hmmm... I wonder what _Daenerys_ smelled?" he teases him lightly.

 

"Shut up." He whacks his arm jokingly. "If you don't want me to like her, don't say things like that."

 

"Right, sorry," he says, biting back a grin, gathering together his notes. "But let me give you one more piece of advice,  Jon."

 

"Okay?"

 

"If you do, end up in the forest tonight..." he warns sternly, "I would stay as close to the group as you possibly can. And— no matter how hard she tries to lure you away... _don't follow her._ Okay?"

 

Oh, come on...

 

"Yeah I get it. I promise." Jon rolls his eyes, patting his back. 

 

Sam's eyes flicker a light of sorrow, "I'm serious Jon. I'm worried about you coming back alive..."

 

 

* * *

 

 

  

 


	15. The Hound's a Bloody Coward

_September 10th, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 

 **Daenerys** **hums** back at the curly headed girl softly, as she slips on her black gloves and dark winter coat.

 

Meera glares at her from across their bedroom. " _Hmm?_ What do you mean, _hmm_? Are you even listening, Dany?" She falls back on top of her bed, her face scrunching up with worry. "He was supposed to meet me _before class_ to give me his notes,  _this morning._ No one has seen him all day."

 

"Meera." Dany calmly turns around to face the stressed out girl in her pajamas. "I'm sure he's fine. He's probably in his room with a cold or like the infirmary or something?"

 

"I already _went_ to the hospital wing and he's not there," Meera stands up and crosses her arms, "Dany? I was the reason he got detention. What if something happened to him out there?"

 

_Shit._

 

Dany bites her lip, running her fingers through her silvery white waves, then pulls back two braids with a tie behind her head. "His detention was not your fault," she reassures her, "And I'm sure he's fine, don't be upset, this is nowhere near your fault?"

 

Meera sniffs quietly with a nod, accidentally leaning back on her fluffy black cat, pulling her tail. "Ah—" she jerks, as it mews angrily. "Sorry Raven." 

 

"Alright," Dany walks across the room to grab her wand. "I got to get going."

 

Meera sighs loudly, suddenly sitting back up again, "Ugh. You can't go out there tonight, Dany. I really don't think it's safe."

 

Dany wraps her Gryffindor scarf around her neck warmly. "Meera." She smiles back at her roommate sympathetically, "Arya and Gilly will be back from the library soon." She pauses, giving her a saddened look. "Please don't sit here... blaming yourself. You should go hang out in the common room? You know, somewhere to get your mind off him, okay? I'll be back soon."

 

She scoffs at that , "I don't feel like talking to anyone right now..." Then she shakes her head more sincerely, "Just be careful please?"

 

"I will, I promise." Dany nods back with confident honesty, "Now stop worrying about everyone else and get some rest okay? It will be okay."

 

"Okay... night, I'll see you later."

  
•

 

Dany strides alongside Brienne on the dusty dirt path to the Forbidden Forest. Stray strands of silver wisps fly out from under her dark hooded cloak, rippling in the bitter wind.

 

And behind her, a brooding Jon Snow briskly follows her steps, alongside with another quietly dark haired boy. The other boy trailing behind bravely in their path, with his Hufflepuff scarf, snuggled up so innocently around his neck that Dany couldn’t even see his face.

 

"Now," Brienne orders, leading the trio, "I will be taking you three to the game keeper first. And then, you will fulfill whatever duties he has for you tonight. And _then_... you will _stay_ _with him_ for the entire time," she cocks her head around serious, basically only talking to Dany, "At all costs, you stay with him, do you hear me?"

 

"Yep." Dany nods shortly in acceptance, while Jon side-eyes her carefully.

•

 

After making their way all the way out past the castle, they finally began to approach a shadow of a man, that was waiting for them out in the distance. His figure was tall, and even contrasting in front of the majestic, dark swaying trees behind him, he still seemed gigantic. As they got closer, Dany could now indeed see the  _very large_ , very angry looking man. A man Dany has seen many times before, with his choppy beard and wind-frayed locks. Locks that poorly hid a terrible burn-scar covering half of his face.

 

 _Clegane._ Her pal. Though he would probably argue otherwise.

 

Gentle smoke rings puff out the top of the bricked cozy hut, while Sandor Clegane stands there impatiently, leaning against his giant serpent umbrella, his silver black hound growling at his side.

 

A crow swoops down and flaps her wings towards him as he smacks it away with a hiss, "—Goddamn stupid birds..."

 

Brienne slows her steps, meeting the man to hand him the book she was carrying, acknowledging him to the students, "Dany, Pod, I trust you know who this is by now. And erhm..." she leans over secretively to Clegane.

 

Dany could hear her whisper to the game keeper, glancing down at the book. “Dumbledore said to give you this.”

 

Clegane looks at it a moment, then glares back at her gloomily, putting it in his pocket.

 

_What was that about?_

 

"Jon, this here is Sandor Clegane, Hogwart's game keeper." Brienne motions over to him, "And Clegane, this here, is Jon Snow."

 

"Well, I'll be damned, Jon Snow?" he grunts thickly. Then he notices Dany, "Oh and lucky me, I got the dragon girl, too?"

 

_Ha- ha..._

 

Clegane slowly peers over at Pod, "I don't know this one, though... What's your name, boy?"

 

Brienne smiles back, proudly answering for him, "This, is Mr. Podrick Payne, a dedicated, reliable seventh year student. And he's interested in game keeping... So I told him I'd let you show him, some of the job's responsibilities."

 

Clegane chortles out in shocked disbelief. "I beg your pardon?" he scorns her bitterly, "You are sorely mistaken, Tarth, if you think I would take on a bloody apprentice?"

 

"Oh, he would be of no bother," she crosses her arms. "Just let him follow you, that's it." 

 

The gamekeeper suddenly points out his enormous umbrella towards his hut. Shooting searing gold sparks out from the serpent mouth tip, sending his open front door slamming shut with a loud _bang_. Podrick flinches at the intimidating sound, squinting a new slight uncertainty towards Brienne.

 

"This is _Illyn Payne's_ boy, Clegane," the Head Girl warns sharply. "Take him out with you and be nice. He's a good egg," she smirks back protectively at Pod.

 

" _Illyn Payne?_ Really? Oh— That's funny." He eyes the boy up and down, scrutinizing his size, "So _your_ the son, of the famous Azkaban torturer— sorry, I mean  _prison guard_." He chuckles darkly, laughing between his words, "...though you don't look like you could hurt a fly, do you?"

 

Dany cautiously squints over at the harmless Hufflepuff, expressing a small hint of judgment. Wondering if his father's tortured hers. Probably.

 

"Alright, you three, have fun," Brienne waves goodbye, setting off back towards the castle.

 

Then with a loud grunt, Clegane walks with a slight limp and his umbrella as a cane, motioning the three young wizards to follow him.

 

"Come with me."

 

Dany, Jon and Pod all lean around him, staring beyond Clegane, and out into the unknown forest with unease.

 

"Come on..." the tall man barks. "Let's get a move on, we've got things to do."

 

•

 

Clegane hands each Dany and Podrick a glowing lantern, and then splits them up, explaining their jobs.

 

He hands Jon an empty bucket. "So... ' _Incendio_ ' and ' _Aguamenti_ ', got it?" he scruffs his beard, "I don't need you settin' the whole goddamn woods on fire."

 

_What in Merlin’s name were they setting on fire though..._

 

"Got it? That's rotting meat out there, so we need to burn it before it brings over more scavengers... So that means more than just the bloody birds. Okay?" he warns. "So char the flesh up good, and then ya can put the pieces in the bucket if ya need."

 

" _So..._ " Dany frowns sadly, unsure if she wants to know the answer, "What _kind_ of _rotting meat_ are we looking for, may I ask?"

 

Clegane scrunches his nose, bending down to her height, "I dunno, follow the smell and you'll find out," he mumbles with a smirk. "Cause that stink's got to go. Or it's gonna bring in the werewolves lookin' for more of it."

 

 _Werewolves?_ Uhm... this wasn't part of her plan.

 

The burly gamekeeper points his umbrella, motioning to Jon and Dany, "Arrite, so we're clear? You and you, go together..." Then he gestures towards a brow-arching Podrick, "And you, Payne, you come with me,” he snickers, "You've got a lot to learn, boy."

 

Dany watches Jon's somewhat nervous reaction, and then bargains for him, demanding, "Fine, then we get Lady."

 

Clegane chuckles at her naive audacity. "That's fine, little bird, be my guest..." He shrugs at them shamelessly, "but just so you know... _that hound's a bloody coward._ "

 

* * *

 

 

 


	16. Follow the Ravens

_September 10, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 

 **Jon** **lifts** up his lantern, peering up at the shadowy dark canopy of the twining tree tops. The moonlight was barely peeking through, streaking random strips of light, as the two students trek on through the twisting, wooded path.

 

"Dany," Jon begins hesitantly, "So, I'm just wondering... is it true, that you, have a real, uhm, dragon in here?"

 

She glances down, "Well, I did..." she responds stoically, "but not anymore..." her expression rigidly hiding her emotions. "Drogon is mine and has been trained by professionals. He's not dangerous," she glances back at him briefly.

 

"I didn't say he was." Jon narrows his eyes to study her expression. "But okay... so where did he go, then?"

 

She purses her lips in thought, deliberately snap-stepping on twigs, as they continue following the ambiguous path. Lady prancing cautiously close behind her.

 

"Well... I don't know exactly," she finally sighs out. "He's never run away before. But... he'll come back to me, I know it."

 

"How long have you had him?"

 

"He hatched when I was nine— See, my father, he left me the egg when I was a baby... before he was sentenced to Azkaban," she watches his reaction carefully.

 

Understanding her position, he shrugs back innocently, "Okay. Well I'm not going to judge you on your father..." His cheeks carefully spread into a small smile, lightly trying to lift the mood, "I'm more interested in how on earth, a sixth year girl, has managed to control and keep a fully-grown, pet dragon."

 

"Girl? You believe only men can be dragons?" She nudges him in a huff, smirking. "But yeah, _not_  so in control anymore though... so it's not too impressive."

 

"Yeah, tons of people have handled dragons for so much longer." He grins cheekily. “Even girls I’ve heard.”

 

She rolls her eyes, "Technically, you're right... I'm sure you've heard about my family, Jon Snow, and what we can do?"

 

"Uh, no... I don't exactly count Tormund's ' _inside sources'_  to be all that reliable..."

 

Surprised, she nods back, a little more relaxed than before. "Hmm, yes probably not... but I've lost interest in caring what everyone says about me, really."

 

"I can understand that feeling quite well actually," he shrugs.

 

They walk in silence for a little bit, and he watches her subtly, as her face twisted rigidly, in deep thought. Until—

 

_SCREEEEECHHHHHHH_

_eeekkk        C—CAWWWW_

 

All the sudden, they both flinch hard upon a flock of blackbirds darting down, flying right past them, swooping over top of their heads.

 

  ... _Wow that was close._

 

They stay remained frozen for another moment until the birds were gone.

 

Dany slows her steps in thought.

 

"Wait." She says, staring off in the direction the birds went, " _They_ could probably _lead_ us, straight to the rotting meat, right? If they're... _scavenging_ like Clegane said?"

 

He sniffs, pulling up his scarf over his nose. "Yeah probably."

 

•

 

Jon follows behind her with the lantern, as Lady tramples along by his side, sloshing through an icy puddle. He takes another breath, breaking the silence again. "Who looked after you, when your father... went away?"

 

She hesitates slightly in her small strides, and then turns around, giving him a bewildered look like,  _where did that come from..._

 

"Sorry—" He sputters, "I didn't mean to— you know, I don't know..." His eyes widen at himself, "I'm just curious I guess, wondering if you just like— well, did you live with your mother?"

 

 _Fuck._ What was he doing. 

 

She turns back around, continuing along the winding path, "No, actually my mother died giving birth to me..." she glances back at him swiftly, as if to make sure that he knows she's not offended. "It's okay though, I wasn't totally alone. I had my uncle Illyrio... well, not my real uncle. But he was the closest thing I had to a real father.” She smiles, “He took care of me... until I could take care of myself."

 

"Wow." Jon stares back at her, unsure of what to say, and then eventually murmurs out, "...I'm sorry... I didn't know."

 

She waves him off flatly, "I said it's fine, ...really," she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear under her hood. Then turns back towards him smugly, "Alright, now it's my turn."

 

He squints at her at first, honestly confused.

 

"Your turn... for what?" then upon realizing, he smiles sheepishly, "Oh... You mean, your turn to ask me a really personal question, and then feel really bad about it afterwards?"

 

She actually laughs out loud at him, warmly suggesting, " _Yes, exactly—_ " and it's honestly the first time he thinks he's ever seen her react so sincere.

 

A different Dany... than the one she pretends to be so often when everyone's watching. 

 

She scrunches her nose up at the nearing smell, "I think we're getting closer..." Then she turns back to him, "So, _my_ question is... did you... live in the _muggle world_? Like for your whole life, until you turned eleven? Did you know about magic, before that?"

 

He raises his brows up high at the thought of an unexpected, bittersweet memory. "Uh yeah, I lived with my muggle family. I mean, my real muggle parents, uh, they died when I was a baby, so I don't really remember them either. But the muggle folks that took me in, were my parents friends..." he rolls his eyes, "Not the _friendliest_ of people... But they took care of me."

 

"And they didn't know about magic until you got your letter, right?"

 

Jon looks out up ahead of them, then remarks huskily, "Actually, no. They did know about magic, they were just waiting... I guess." 

 

He smirks at her, "I think they knew how I would react..." he shakes his head recalling it, "I wasn't exactly accepting of it all at first... when I found out that's what killed my parents."

 

”Oh... they were...” she trails off, “...by magic?”

 

”Yes. By you-know-who.” But she seemed to have already known before he said it.

 

“Oh... I’m so sorry.” She hides her face in her scarf.

 

Jon shrugs sadly, “It’s alright. It was just a lot to take in when I found out.”

 

“That must've been quite a terrible shock." She huffs. "I can't even imagine... and not knowing about magic."

 

"No, well you know," he waves the attention off of him, "But that's just plain magic... That's nothing really, compared to the things your family can do." He raises his brows in disbelief, " _I_ can't imagine finding out about all _that_ and you know, all the abilities that get passed down."

  
Dany looks over his face, like she was judging whether or not he was trying to be insulting. "Yeah I guess..." she steps over an ice puddle. "I think it was more gradual. Like I just grew up knowing about my family's blood line, and how they've been able to do some pretty extraordinary things." Then her expression hardens, "I do remember though, when I found out about that it also comes at a terrible price."

 

"What do you mean, how?" he asks.

 

"You know..." Dany makes a wincing face, ashamed, "How we're known to... dangerously lose our temper from time to time... And then, even better, how we're almost always expected to lose our sanity as we get older..." She shrugs a smile, without it reaching her eyes. "It's so wonderful, having that to look forward to."

 

Jon watches her carefully, his expression unawaringly trying to comfort her. He tries to redirect the conversation. "So tell me, what kind of extraordinary things could they do though... Again, I don't trust Tormund." He half chuckles awkwardly, the air of his breath freezing mid-air, "What about you? What can you do already?”

 

She smirks back, "Are you asking me if I'm a true dragon or not? Cause if so, I'm afraid I don't even know the answer to that, myself." She looks back at Lady quickly, to make sure she was still following them. "I think... I might be though, I mean, I don't think fire _hurts_ me, like it does to everyone else... Although, I haven't actually had the pleasure of being burned alive yet, to test it."

 

" _Well_ that's always a good thing," Jon chuckles. "Any other talents?"

 

She takes the lantern from him, "Well," she squints ahead into the fog, lifting up the light. "I'm a parselmouth... like all my ancestors were too. So that's how I can sometimes... communicate with Drogon."

 

"Really?" Jon arches a brow at her in awe. "You can talk to snakes _and_ dragons? Oh— wow..." he tries to hide his grin, looking the other way. "Talking to dragons... well, those must be some interesting conversations." 

 

She laughs back again, " _Are you making fun of me?_ " she nearly lets out a giggle. A cute one. "I'll have you know our conversations are more intellectually stimulating than with most people to be honest."

 

"Seriously, like what?" he contorts his face in disbelief. Quickly, she shakes her head, "I'm kidding, no, it's either him telling me he's hungry or complaining about 'the mean giant man' being late with his food." She laughs louder, "Oh my god, he hates Clegane, so much. It's so funny..." 

 

"Oh yeah...” He smirks at her cheekily. “And it must feel amazing too," he peers back at her again, almost teasing, "...to be so _extraordinary_ unlike the rest of us."

 

She scoffs at him, smacking his coat, "Excuse me, but from what I've heard, it doesn't seem like you're so ordinarily _average_ yourself?"

 

"Oh, really?" he leans into the warmth of her coat, "And what have you heard?"

 

"Well, there's your Quidditch fame, your defense against the dark art skills, the white walkers..." she stops walking to look at him fully, "—and ... _cheating_ death?"

 

Jon smiles back shyly, "Oh, so you _have_ heard about my great skills, stalker—"

 

A sudden snapping sound of a tree collapsing up ahead of them, scares them both silent.

 

_Woah. He actually felt the ground shake._

 

The tree creaks over, leaning roughly unstable against another branch, as a gust of wind sings loud, blowing through, nearly knocking them over.

 

Jon and Dany suddenly cough out, choking tearfully at the now impossibly growing strong odor.

 

_WHAT is that smell—_

 

"Oh my god... that's _horrible_ ," Dany chokes, covering her hand over her nose.

 

" _Oh no._ " She skips up ahead sadly, as he runs over to it too. The both of them now approaching the gory, _awful_ scene laid out before them.

 

Multiple, _mangled_ dead centaur bodies lay together, all arranged in a strange circular symbol.

 

Dany examines them closely, as they lay lifeless on the ground, and then heaves in a breath, gagging out to the side from the smell. She looks back at Jon hopelessly, emulating her intense sorrow for them. 

 

Lady squeals at the bodies when she finally realized the situation, backing up in fear, and Dany coughs out again from the smell. "What _hap-pened_ to them? Who would do some-thing like this?" She pulls out her wand. "No _animal_ could arrange them like that, right?"

 

Then her expression falls, and she guesses, whispering coldly, "Do you think it was the same creature that took..." she stands up, walking away, "Ugh, oh no Bran..."

 

Before she could start worrying more, Jon thinks to distract her, promising with a task. "Hey listen, okay, calm down." He walks up behind her. "Let's hurry, and do this quick, and then maybe... we can look around for him?"

 

"Okay..." He moves swiftly ahead of her, pulling out his wand, but in a huff, she beats him to it.

 

" _Incendio_ ," she swishes her wand intensely, directing a fire-blazing channel of flames, out over the bloodied, ripped open bodies.

 

They watch sadly, as the crackling bodies char in the glowing, white and blue-orange flames. Jon covers his nose and mouth from the blowing heat.

 

They stare at the fire for a minute or two, watching it grow.

But they only watch for just long enough, until they both agree that the bodies were burned well.

 

"I'll put it out," Jon says softly.

 

He moves ahead of her to cast the water spell, when suddenly, a fast diving bird squawks at him, pecking his hand sharply, "— _Ah!!_ " he shouts at it, flinging the crow off of him.

 

Dany rushes to him, touching his hand to inspect the pecked wound. "That was weird?" She feels over his knuckle and then the side where the gash began to leak warm blood.

 

He was bleeding. But all he could think about was her touching his skin. It tingled where she touched, and he could tell she felt it too, because she drops his hand, just as fast as she took it, jumping across him to perform the charm herself, " _Aguamen—_ "

 

In a flash, another crow bites, attacking her too, as she shrieks out, "Ahh! What’s—" she sucks the wound to her mouth. " _God_ , what's _wrong_ with them!?"

 

"I _don't know_ ," Jon cries back, "They're birds, can you speak to _them too_?"

 

More crows begin to fly down over from behind them—  _in a daring pack of about twenty._

 _They swoop down fast,_ chasing the two Gryffindors suddenly in the other direction.

 

"This way!" Dany calls out over the ear-piercing, bird-cawing noise. "We'll follow them!"

 

Jon scoffs back loudly, stopping in his tracks, " _Follow them_? We've got to put out the bloody fire, Dany!" He runs towards an open path of frozen ground, through a row of jagged trees.

 

He flips around, still running, angling up at the diving creatures, " _Stupify_!"

 

A few fall motionless to the ground, as the rest of the swarm seems to multiply, diving in faster after them.

 

_Come on!_

 

Jon swiftly pulls an uncooperative Dany by her arm, suddenly hugging her back against himself. He sinks back into a nearby hollowed tree.

 

The birds flit past them in a fast, shadowy blur. He cups his hand over her mouth, muffling over her almost-scream.

 

"Shhh! Wait," he says into her ear, holding her own forearm against her heaving chest, hugging her, calming her down. They pant silently together, catching their breath...

 

_Okay. Were they gone?_

 

There's a long silence after that. A short, uneven silence. The birds seemed to be gone.

 

"Don't move," he exhales from behind her, his warm breath brushing her ear again, and she huffs hotly into his glove in mumbled frustration. 

 

"I want to see. Jon, they’re gone,  _let me go—_ " she ducks out of from underneath his arm, but then freezes, upon gaping at the sudden sight before them.

 

Holy _fucking_ crow.

 

The birds had all slowed to a mid-air standstill, _eerily turning back around in unison,_ facing back towards Jon and her.

 

_Floating, watching them..._

 

Dany gasps in fear, but then, upon hearing a faint cry for help in the misted, foggy distance, Jon feels a flash of hope. 

 

"Jon," she tugs him along, whispering, "Someone just called my _name!"_ She cries, yelling over the screeching of intensifying  _caws_ , "I told you, the birds— they want us to follow them! Maybe it's Bran!"

 

_What? How does that—_

 

"Dany!" She took off.

He runs to catch up alongside her, now with Lady close behind, arguing back, "What if it's not?! What if it's a trap?" He pants roughly, " _We need_ to put out the fire!"

 

The voice calls again, this time more audibly, as they continue running towards it.

 

" _Dany, I'm right_ _here._ "

 

_That doesn't sound like a little boy..._

 

"Dany." It calls out clearer, then even more distinctly, " _Follow the ravens!_ "

 

Jon bites his tongue, as Dany starts running faster, sprinting deeper into the woods.

 

"Daenerys! Slow down. Let's just think, for a minute," he shouts for her, glancing back nervously at the now raging, growing fire behind them.

 

The voice shouts again, "Dany, I'm here!" And now, he was beginning to sound... like he was in pain. Serious pain. "Quick-ly, I'm in _here_. I'm stuck."

 

Lady pounces behind in whizzing blur, following Jon, as he chases Dany... as she chases the birds, that were indefinitely chasing the voice back to " _Bran_ ".

 

_This was so not a good idea._

 

_"Dany, slow down, just wait—"_

 

"Here!" She shouts, finally slowing down up ahead, as the birds disperse loudly. "He's here," she scans around the environment frantically.

 

Jon slows down his jog, now stopping next to her, approaching the scene with a new caution.

 

"Bran?! Is that you, Bran?" she yells for him desperately, " _Where are you_?" 

 

A short distance away from them, seven or eight ravens flutter down from above, gravely landing to rest in the snow-dusted branches of a giant, _ancient white oak tree. It’s markings oddly forming an unsettling “face”._

 

_That's the biggest tree, Jon was certain, that he has ever seen._

 

Dany squints into the darkness with her lantern, able to now see a pair of small feet, splayed halfway out from the hallowed-hole of the white oak.

 

_But there's no voice calling her anymore..._

 

She flits over, recognizing him, as he lays there still— but both her and Jon stop in fear, upon seeing him motionless, and in a rather _peculiar_ physical state.

 

Shit. _What’s wrong with him? His eyes?_

 

The whites of the boy's bright-milky eyes, were glowing opaque in the pale moonlight. His gaze, blindly staring out into the shadowed woods— was hauntingly fixating his vision up, backwards into his skull.

 

Dany rushes over, shaking him, " _Bran?_ Hey, come on. Wake up, we're taking you back now, it's okay."

 

But he remains laying still. His eyes rolled into his head in a demonic state of paralysis.

 

She snaps back around to Jon with worry, "He's freezing. Feel him, he's ice cold—" then she flinches back, as Bran's eyes suddenly flicker open, looking back at the both of them with chilling exhaustion.

 

Jon suddenly feels a strong icy current flow through this veins. And he knows it’s not from the air.

 

"You can put out the fire now," Bran says grimly. " _They can't come back now._ "

 

  
•

 

  
" _You stay here with him_ , and I'll run back to put it out," Dany says, motioning for Lady to follow her.

 

"No," Jon shakes his head, "No wait, he can't walk. So—” He angles himself around, behind Bran, struggling to carefully lift him up. "I'll carry him, then follow behind you." He readjusts Bran, grunting, "Okay? Let's go now."

 

Dany sprints ahead, as Lady trots roughly behind her. And Jon runs as strong as he can, close on their trail, holding Bran protectively over his back.

 

Suddenly Bran speaks up near Jon’s ear, murmuring dryly, "Jon Snow. Did Aemon get back safely?"

 

Jon squints at him confused. _Who?_

 

He pants heavily, breathing out, "Who's  _Aemon_?"

 

“No...” Bran sighs in sad frustration. "The black-haired centaur. He hid me from the walking dead... after I fell."

 

Jon exhales coolly, "It's okay, Bran. We're almost back now, you're safe."

 

He can see the smoke fire now, being slowly extinguished up ahead, as Dany stands there fiercely, pointing out a fast jet of water, a hissing force from the tip of her wand.

 

It seemed as if she was almost _within_ the fire, she was so close to it. The sight of it made his stomach churn.

 

Bran mumbles softly, holding onto Jon's fur coat, "He didn't make it did he? _They got his whole pack?_ "

 

Jon huffs in response, now coming up to the passing sight of charred bodies.

 

He doesn't answer Bran— too focused on pushing through the dull, burning pain in his leg muscles, the cool sting in his lungs, as he continues running, now with Dany and Lady at his side.

 

Dany furrows her brows, turning to Bran, " _Who did this, Bran?_ What happened?"

 

“It was them.” He whispers in a low breath, "The dead knights... the walking ice men. Those bodies  _needed_ to burn."

 

 

•

 

 

Sandor Clegane spots them and waves his arms, scolding loudly from up ahead. " _Where the bloody hell were you two?! I said to—_ " he stops himself, now making out sight of the extra boy, slouched lazily over Jon's shoulders.

 

”Holy fucking shit—“

 

Jon could see the bit of light coming from the outside safety of the forest, as he continued following in the direction of Clegane's voice.

 

"Dear _god_. What happened here?" the gamekeeper snorts at them in chastising awe, while they pant excessively, slowing to the near edge of the forest.

 

"How did you manage to—  _You've found the Stark boy?_ " he barks in disbelief.

 

Dany processes that for a moment, "Wait—" she pauses, then suddenly, she lashes out in uncontrollable anger, "You _knew_ he was out there? And you sent us in there, anyway?"

 

"Aye, of course I knew about him," he shakes his head at the ridiculousness of not. "We had the bloody troops searching for him all goddamn day and night? You two were perfectly safe."

 

"Well those troops are dead!" Dany yells. "And you knew perfectly well that that rotting meat could have been Bran?"

 

"Little bird, take a breath..." he scowls back at her, explaining, "You don't think we'd really let anyone go back in there, let alone—  _students_ , if we weren't positive that that  _creature_ ," he points, out into the forest, "that ripped apart, those very troops was definitely  _gone_ , now did ya?"

 

Dany narrows her dark brows. "So you knew it was the centaurs." 

 

"Nothing gets past you, does it?" He turns around to Podrick, "Boy. Go to the Infirmary and tell them we're coming straight away."

 

"Did you know their bodies were arranged in a symbol?" Dany protests, as Jon rests in exhaustion, carefully dropping Bran to lay him down on the ground against a tree.

 

"No, I didn't." Clegane's eyes widen slightly, watching Bran struggle to prop himself up on his elbows.

 

 _"Hold on._ Can he not _..._   _walk?"_ he stammers out. "What happened to you, Stark?"

 

Bran narrows his eyes at him with obvious disdain. "No... _I cannot walk_. I can't even feel my legs." He explains hoarsely, "I saw them all. The creatur _es_... not creature..." he emphasizes the plurality, correcting him flatly. "And in they came, _walking slow_... the army of dead men. So I ran and tried to hide, climbing a tree. But then their leader..." he pauses, biting his lip, "he saw me... up there. He had silver hair— a crown of ice. One eye bright blue, the other one purple. And then, _he made me_ _fall—_ "

 

" _Made you fall?_  How high was the tree?—“

 

”High.” Bran interrupts, “I barely remember falling.”

 

“Arrite, boy, that's enough... Just relax, alright, you're safe now," Clegane mumbles, now eyeing Dany and Jon, "And are you two, alright?"

 

They both nod stubbornly, as Bran continues on ranting, "I'm back here safe,  _thanks_ to them.”

 

He glares at him. “We're all back here safe,  _thanks_ to Aemon..." He bites coldly, "Even though, they all ended up getting slaughtered for it..." he whispers lowly, "and... with your help."

 

Clegane scoffs in exasperation.  _"My_ _help?"_

 

"Yes." Bran nods back coolly, accusing him, "I tried sending you signs the centaurs needed help... but you wouldn't have noticed if it bit you in the nose." He chuckles lightly, "Oh right, it did bite you a few times didn’t it?"

 

" _Bran— What?_ " Dany hushes at his boldness, and Sandor Clegane chuckles out loud. 

 

" _Signs_? What bloody signs did you send me?"

 

"The ravens," Bran huffs behind a stony glare.

 

Sandor scratches his greasy head, "I didn't exactly see any parchment attached to them? They just kept bloody biting me, bothering me all goddamn day."

 

"Exactly... _I made them do that,"_ Bran warns grimly.

 

"Oh, you _made_ them do that, did you? Are you a bird whisperer now?" He mocks, stepping over to him, "You might also want to get your _head_ checked later... just in case."

 

Bran shuts his eyes in frustration.

 

 Clegane then bends down, suddenly heaving him roughly over his back, "Come on now, boy, you'll be arrite." He grunts haughtily, " _Your father'll be waitin' for ya_."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 


	17. Gossip Circle

_September 16th, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 

 **Dany** **strolls** elegantly throughout the crowded open corridors, making her way boldly to the Viaduct Courtyard. Her brilliant red cape flows gracefully behind her, stitched with the gold embroidered letters, _TARGARYEN_ and below it, the number  _1_.

 

It’s been about an entire week since her and Jon’s detention in the forest and she was eager to finally let her mind think about something normal for a change.

 

And of course, some heads did turn fast in a double-take, but not for the usual reason of being a sight of unexpected beauty (not that she agreed with the consensus), but upon noticing her newest addition to the garment. Embroidered and in neatly stitched letters, spells out across the bottom of her cape in silver letters, the title,  _CAPTAIN._

 

Clutching onto her broomstick with her fingerless leather gloves, _Captain_ Daenerys struts over to the girls; Arya, Sansa, Missandei, Margaery, Gilly, and Meera.

 

They were all engrossed in a riveting conversation, standing and sitting around a stone bench in the middle of the courtyard, signaling Dany over to them swiftly from afar.

 

"Greyworm... said that to you? What do you mean, they have a secret _plan_?" A similarly uniformed Arya, blatantly interrogates a halfly amused Missandei.

 

The relaxed Ravenclaw feigns naive confusion, "Uhm, I don't know. I forget what he called it, a plan?  A  _play,_ maybe? Is that what it's called? He says it's very tricky," she smirks coyly.

 

"You can't tell her anything about Hufflepuff's _strategies?_ " Sansa interrupts in warning. Her long red hair flies up in the wind, tousling back down over her smooth Slytherin robes. She teasingly sticks her tongue out at Arya as she gapes at her rudely. " _That would be cheating._ "

 

Arya mocks back a face-of-disgust in her direction, but then drops it, as Dany steps up, entering into their little circle of gossip.

 

"Dany!" they exclaim.

 

She grins at them happily, but then her smile fades, as they stare back at her with curiously awaiting expressions.

 

"So?" Sansa presses her. Dany smugly holds in a grin.

 

" _...What?_ "

 

"Oh, come on, Dany, aren't you excited? Today's the big day! First match of the year as _Captain_!" Meera cheers, shaking her arm enthusiastically. Margaery adds on with a knowing smirk, "Oh. _Yes._ _Captain_ versus _Captain_..." She wiggles her perfectly shaped eyebrows at her scandalously.

 

"Oh don't start with that again," Dany scoffs. "How many times can I say this? We are _just_ friends— and have _been_ , _just_ friends _,_  for three years, now. It's honestly gross to think of him like that anymore."

 

Sansa sighs, folding her arms gently, " _But it does_ _explain how you haven't_ _liked_ a boy... since him, though?" Arya scoffs at that, glancing at Dany with an unreadable expression.

 

_She doesn't know does she?_

 

Sansa gestures on, "That means you probably still like Drogo deep down, if you haven't liked anyone else since."

 

Dany rolls her eyes at Sansa's logic, now tired, "No. That _means_ I learned my lesson the first time. And until I've found someone, that I'm truly certain about, then dating someone—  _just to_ _date them,_ feels honestly like a waste of my time."

 

"But why weren't you certain about Drogo?" Sansa almost whines, "I mean, he's Bulgaria's youngest seeker in the world!"

 

Daenerys shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly, "There's more to attraction than just status and looks, you know? Drogo and I didn't exactly match... _intellectually_."

 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gilly questions her flatly. 

 

Dany squints away, "No— not like that. I just meant that our relationship was more... purely physical, than anything else—"

 

Sansa spits a puff of air, giggling, " _Physical?_ " The rest of the girls chuckling heartily along with her.

 

"Ugh _no_ , not like that either," she hides her embarrassment, sliding a hand over her eye in frustration. "Just physical, in the sense that he mainly just watched me study... We never talked about anything I thought was important.  _In fact, we didn't talk very much at all, really._ "

 

"Mhm _hm_..." Margaery huffs cheekily. Then directing a sly grin over at Sansa, she perks up again, asking Dany, "Actually though,  _Sansa_ and _I_ were kinda wondering about this... Jon Snow?"

 

She scrutinizes Dany's suddenly shocked expression, "Do you know if he's currently _taken? Could you introduce us—“_

 

Arya suddenly exhales loudly in hot frustration, " _Oh_ , _don't you two ever_ _rest?_ I mean, doesn't it get _old,_ after a while? Constantly trying to impress boys." Catching her breath, she flinches back for a moment, scanning all of their newly speechless expressions.

 

" _What?_ " Margaery frowns.

 

"You were all thinking it,” Arya declares defensively.

 

Then after another silent moment she sputters out, "Oh my god everyone, _relax_ , I'm only _kidding_." She turns around awkwardly to leave, "Damn, why are all of you so uptight?" she continues walking backwards, "Okay, well I have to go study before the match. I'll see you all later." 

 

After a long second of realization, Gilly nods along plainly. "I'll come with you."

 

Still gaping at her outburst, Sansa echoes her, annunciating skeptically, " _Study? Since when do you_ study _?_ "

 

Arya rolls her big dark eyes at her, shooting back a subtle death glare, and then walks away with Gilly, her cape blowing gently behind her.

 

 

•

 

 

"What was her problem?" Margaery wonders coolly.

 

Meera bites her lip, as Sansa finally leans in mumbling over to her cautiously, " _I told you this?_ Arya's had a secret _crush_ on Gendry,  _for like 3 years now._ She's annoyed with you."

 

Margaery narrows her sharp eyes in recollecting thought, "What? _No..._ You've never told me that before? Arya _likes_ him? She likes boys? You never told me she liked Gendry." Her eyes sparkle with the excited hint of a scandal.

 

Sansa squints back at her, confused, "What? _Yes_  I did? At least I _thought_ that I did."

 

Margaery shakes her head innocently, her strawberry blonde waves bouncing softly over her shoulder, "No? I mean... I wouldn't have _asked_ _him_ _out_ , if you did?" She sighs at her, frowning, "I honestly didn't know."

 

"Yeah well. Neither does _Gendry_ ," Meera huffs shortly.

 

"And it's funny, cause as much of a _ladies man_ that he says he is..." she trails off, "when it comes to her he's about as dim as they come," she stifles another laugh, motioning with her hand, "...It _all_ goes out the window."

 

They all laugh with her, nodding in agreement, and then Margaery's hazel eyes suddenly light up, "Wait. I know," she glances darkly over at Sansa, "I have an idea."

 

"No—" Sansa tries to cut her off, but Margaery bubbles over her, "I will play _match maker_. My favorite game," she pretend-claps sneakily.

 

Sansa shakes her head strictly. "No, _no_ you will definitely not. If Arya finds out I told you..." she peers up at all four of them now with dread, "told  _any_ of you about this... She'll kill me. She'd never speak to me again."

 

"Hm, I'd honestly rather her kill me. Cause Arya's _cold shoulder_ is just about the absolute worst thing in the world." Margaery adds.

 

Meera and Dany knowingly glance at each other, smirking wisely. "Sansa we already knew. We always knew. It's okay."

 

Margaery smiles pompously, "Right then. So I can fix this then?" She slides her slender hands together mischievously, "This will be fun."

 

Sansa frowns, twirling a sharp lock of red hair around her finger, "No, I don't know Mar... _Maybe you should just let things happen_ , let it all fall into place. I mean, I'm sure it will eventually, right?"

 

Margaery's mouth twitches, curving upwards deviantly, " _Exactly._ That's why they are going to _think_ , that it was _their_ idea... Not mine."

 

Then she spins off on her toes when Sansa groans, escaping away fast with a bright grin, "Alright then, its settled." She shouts back to Meera and Dany, "Oh and good luck today girls! Go Gryffindor!" Sansa skips awkwardly after her, hushing her sharply, "Margaery, I said _no_!"

•

After Sansa and Margaery leave the Courtyard, Meera tells Dany and Missandei, that she's meeting Bran before the game, to hangout with him in the hospital wing...

 

"Alright? So I'll see you at the game?" Meera calls, while striding away. Missandei and Dany wave her off, nodding with a supportive grin, trying to mask their sad eyes.

 

They then sit down on the bench with an exhausted sigh. "I can't believe he's still there. I mean it's been about an _entire week_. Why can't they figure out what's wrong with him?" Missandei asks solemnly.

 

Dany folds her arms into her waist, "I don't know." She frowns, now watching the other students, as they run around launching snow balls, relaxing on benches and chatting around the Courtyard. She can't help but imagine Bran, now unable to do so many of the things he used to love to do.

 

"They're going to put him in a wheelchair soon. Since they still can't figure out a potion to make him walk again," she murmurs flatly.

 

"Atleast he's alive, Dany. That's what really matters. And it's because of you," she reminds her sincerely.

 

Dany sighs softly, her eyes glinting a hint of a grateful smile, "I know, you're right. It's just strange honestly, because most paralyzed children always recover with magic. At least that's what Jon said, that Professor Stark, said."

 

Missandei twists her mouth into a perplexed pout— then somewhat lightening her expression again, she bugs her teasingly, "Oh,  _Jon_ said that, did he?"

 

Dany smacks her arm lightly, as the smirking Ravenclaw adds lowly, "Do the girls know— about you _secretly_ hanging out with him all week?"

 

Dany snaps a hand down on her lap feigning coldness, "No? _Missandei._  I told you that in confidence. You and Tyrion. You are the only ones who know— what we've been doing... And we’re just preparing. And I don’t like him in that way I told you."

 

”Alright... if you say so,” Missandei drifts her eyes out into the courtyard. “I just hope no one finds out.”

 

“Nobody will.” Dany peers away, thinking out loud softly, “Or we’re going to be in a lot of trouble.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

  

 


	18. Defender Beyond the Wall

_September 16th, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 

 **Jon** **chuckles** roughly, turning his head around to Tormund in disbelief, "But I don't understand? You're honestly not that bad..." he admits, "Actually, you're really good."

 

"Right, well. Apparently last year I wasn't _tough_ enough for them. Cause god forbid you want to go get yer fucking _broken_ finger fixed during tryouts," he snorts sarcastically, both Jon and him ducking their heads into the dark Quidditch Cave.

 

Following the creaky-rock path, their uniform capes blow ruggedly behind them, striding in through the hissing mist. The glittering walls of the cave echo their steps quietly, dripping plinks of dewy water from the tunnel's earthy-black ceiling.

 

Jon scratches his beard, slightly amused, "Well you're on the team now, that's all that matters? And today, I think we're going to win..." He quickens his pace in anticipation, following the upcoming light at the end of the cave.

 

Tormund grunts softly, "Aye, I _am_ here. Thanks to you,” he points out, glancing quickly at him, smiling gratefully as they exit the shadows. Jon shrugs small, “Well, I wouldn’t have done it if you weren’t so good at clubbing.” He smiles, “I still have that black eye, you know.”

 

“Yeah,” Tormund winces. ”Sorry ‘bout that.” The two of them pause, immediately blinded by a ray of light, drenching a path straight to the main stairs of the Quidditch Tower.

 

Tormund absorbs the warm sunlight on his face for a moment.

 

"Ahhh. ‘Feel like I haven't felt the sun in weeks." He smiles, "So you never said... How _did_  ya get her to change her mind?"

 

Jon slides his goggles up to his hairline as they huff up the Quidditch staircase, his other hand gripping a strong hold on his broomstick. "I dunno, we made a deal. I knew she wasn't backing down as Seeker."

 

" _Yeah—_ " Tormund chokes, "and in other news, grass is green. I mean, what _kind_ of deal was it?" He wiggles his eyebrows.

 

" _Okay, well,_  since I used to be Keeper before that at Durmstrang..." he rolls his eyes, ignoring the innuendo. "I said _I_ would be Keeper, if well,  _you_ could be Beater. And honestly, I like being the last line of defense anyway, the pressure being the last defender."

 

"Well, thank you Snow. But you _do_ know that Keeper was _Whiny_ boy Narharis' position right? He's going to be sorely pissed off."

 

Jon shrugs innocently. "Oh... no, really? I...didn't realize..." He dips his chin into his chest, twitching down a half-smile.

 

"That's amazing," The red-headed boy cackles loud, shaking his shoulder roughly. "I like you more and more each day, Snow."

 

As they reach the top of the stairs, Jon slows his steps in thought. "Do you know, why Gilly _quit_ last year? I heard she was actually a fair Beater?"

 

Tormund arches a brow softly, "Fair? She was a _firecracker_ , that one, no less. But she had to quit before the O.W.L.S. started last year. She went for tutoring."

 

Jon exhales frowning, "Oh..."

 

"Yeah. But it's not all that bad though," he remarks nonchalantly, "That's how she met Sam."

 

Jon's eyebrows climb up to his forehead, "Really? Tutoring?"

 

"Yeah. It was a bit of a lucky draw for the two of them. And she hated Quidditch anyway, said it reminded her of home."

 

Jon smiles back at him skeptically. "That's nice then, I guess... about Sam."

 

Tormund shields his hand up over his eyes, blocking the sun. "Yeah, nice about Sam.  _Not_ so much about her home. Her father, he is a fucking arsehole, Jon. You know he just up and left her and her sisters alone, for years _,_ to do god-knows-what kinda dark magic business in the states? Gilly was only three, I think..."

 

Jon frowns in sympathy, a blurry memory prickling his mind.

 

"And did ya know she's never even been to _school_ before Hogwart's? She barely knew how to read when she came here... And now, here she is," he smirks fondly, "doubling all my exam scores..."

 

"That's brilliant." Jon beams. "Her and Sam seem great together—"

 

"Yeah they are—“ he barks out a sudden laugh, “ _Oh_  shit— There was this one time, I'll never forget it." he laughs obnoxiously, "She found Sam's book... called, uh, ' _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_ ' Behind his bed!"

 

”No way! What did he do?”

 

“Well he nearly died of course, I’ve never seen the bloke turn so red in my life!" 

 

"Oh my god." Jon bursts out in loud heavy laughter with his giggling teammate.

•

Up in the distance, there's a faint roar of a crowd- cheering and chanting in the background, drums thudding wildly closer as they head up the stairs. Jon can't help but grin at the familiar feeling, the buzzing electric current now flowing hot in his veins.

 

The two players step up along the top of the wall with great strength, Jon's blood pumping faster with the adrenaline. He tilts his head up, squinting up at the clear open sky, white light shining bright in the bitter air. And far out in the distance, he can see the Quidditch pitch flags flapping harsh and cold in the biting wind.

 

"Well, here we go. Today's gonna be a good day, I can feel it." He quietly claps a hand on Tormund's back as they head down towards the gate steps.

 

They stride along the wall of the Training Grounds, the thrumming sound of screaming, excited students intensifies as they head down. Jon can now hear his teammates, as he steps down the stairs into the secluded Quidditch Gate cell. But as the two players enter down into the gate-locked chamber, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students chant wildly, overlapping each other in a blurred mesh beyond the wall. He stands in the back stopping on the last step as the noise begins to fade quieter, surely blocked by a set sound-proofing charm...

 

Dany spots him right away.

 

She turns around, flashing him a child-like grin in excitement, her silver hair knitted back, flipping fiercely in the wind. Her cheeks stained a rosy pink from the feverish windchill, and Jon feels a suddenly new twinge of flutters, tickling around in his insides... and he's not so sure it's Quidditch related anymore. He smiles back at her, secretly wanting to be in the front by the gate.

 

Next to her. 

 

 _This is was their first Quidditch match and all he could think about was what happened the other night_.

 

Fuck, she’d kill him if she knew what he was thinking about. He needed to focus.

 

Gendry yells over to him and Tormund, as he teases poor Arya, holding her broom up over her head. He chuckles, as she jumps up desperately for it. But it was merely an act, because with a quick kick in the back of the knee, Gendry was doubling over in a spasm, and she snatches it back with an angry huff. Jon laughs, watching her grin down triumphantly at the dramatic boy, moaning in exaggerated pain.

 

Dany steps up, leaning on the small ledge before the gate wall, and then clears her throat so everyone can hear her. "Alright, everyone listen up."

 

She purses her lips.

 

 _Not everyone was paying attention to her_.

 

"Hey!" Meera smacks Gendry quick in the back of the head. " _Shut it?!_ " 

 

" _Thank_ _you..._ Meera." She hawk eyes him as he winces sheepishly. "So— the lineup is the same as from the last time we discussed, except... now, Giantsbane, you're the new Beater with Waters, and Snow you'll be Keeper, instead of Naharis."

 

"And Naharis you'll move up as chaser with the girls."

 

Daario shrieks out in shock. " _What?_ I thought... Snow was Beater?!"

 

Daenerys stands tall and poised, eyeing down at him coldly, "Things changed." She flickers her eyes at Jon for a moment, "There was a fair compromise... as Jon selflessly suggested that Tormund would make a better Beater than him. And he's already proven himself an excellent Keeper. So what's done is done." 

 

Jon bows his head, hiding back a small, victorious smirk. But considering Daario actually looks like he's about to cry, he seals his mouth shut— as there was now a new kind of rage beginning to brew behind the disappointed pretty boy's eyes.

 

"Good," Dany observes his expression, "Take that frustration out on the other team. Hufflepuff will be our toughest match this year and I want to start out strong."

 

She explains their match ups, waving her wand quick over the play board, the wooden player pieces dancing to life as she speaks. "Again, we'll go over the basics just to be clear. Beaters... Gendry and Tormund, you must especially watch out for Lestrange. She's quick and she's smart.  _Very_ smart."

 

"And Chasers— Arya, Meera, Naharis, watch out for Renly... he has a nasty swing, but more importantly, watch out for Greyworm. He plays extremely aggressive goal keeping and he _will_ come out from his post. But   _that's_   when  we  need  to  strike  the  hardest. Got it?"

 

Arya nods ferociously, stepping in front of Gendry, and not-so-coincidentally also on his toes. 

 

"Ow—"

 

"Alright, my team! They should be opening the gate soon. Are we ready?!"

 

Jon watches Dany nod her head, answering her own question, as the team cheers back in a quick united chant. They all match her expression determinedly, and follow her lead. He stands there watching as she adjusts herself on her broom, angling it, tilting it up in the air, then mounting it steady.

 

Suddenly the gate lock hitches open, and the wall slowly begins to rise up. The booming sound of chaotically cheering students floods in around them— instantly snapping Jon out of his daze and into serious game mode.

 

Then one by one hovering onto their brooms Dany, Arya, Gendry, Daario, Meera and Tormund zoom out, flying up high into the cold, sunny cheering stadium.

 

However, Jon was last in line, and as soon as he leaned forward to lift off the ground, a strong arm gripped hold of his broom, pulling him quickly back into the shadows.

 

What the fuc— who—

 

He inhales sharply, his eyes widened in threatened shock and he immediately goes to defend himself reaching for his wand- but bigger arms circle around him instead, holding him down.

 

A familiar sounding deep voice speaks in his ear, soothing him protectively. "Jon, hey, s’alright, it's okay, it's just me..."

 

He relaxes... upon recognizing the man in the dark fur coat right away. "Professor— Stark... I'm —sorry. You scared me," he gushes, shortly embarrassed.

 

He stares back at the powerfully broad-shouldered, gentle man. Feeling a pang of neediness in his chest.

 

Wow, he missed him. He wanted to hug him. Tell him alone he feels here. But he doesn’t, and stands up tall, as the professor drapes a warm arm around his shoulders.

 

Ned chuckles heartily, "No, that's alright son, it's my fault, I was just comin’ in from behind. I didn't want to interrupt your lovely Captain's speech."

 

“Oh, it’s okay.”

 

"Jon, I uh,” he clears his throat huskily, “I came here, cause I wanted to wish you good luck today... And to also— uh, well speaking of your captain..." His smile fades a little, "I would also like to have a word with you, and Ms. Targaryen after the match. You can meet in my office afterwards when you can..." He dips his chin at him sadly.

 

"I would like to talk to you about... some things." 

 

Jon barely nods back, his eyes more wary about the true motive for this meeting, but he answers politely anyway. "Oh, thanks... and uh sure," he glances back anxiously towards the field, "I'll let her know."

 

Professor Stark nods, grinning widely again, "Alright son. Now, go ahead," he gestures out into green grass beyond, and then cups his shoulders warmly. "Good luck."

 

Jon nods a silent thank you and then angles himself over his broom and leans forward. He pulls up on the handle and then in a full half second, he speeds off.

 

With the flash of the sun and the wind blowing cold in his dark tied-back hair, he grips a tighter hold onto his broomstick, holding it stronger against the wind current. He notices the noise of the crowd suddenly falling quieter as he rushes up into the field in his late start, whooshing fast past the stands.

 

This past week, he had definitely noticed a change in the way his fellow Gryffindor's looked at him now, since the _Bran_ incident...

 

People were actually significantly nicer to him, since the beginning of the school year and he was grateful for that. But now...

 

 _Now_ , the stands were... almost silent. The air was tense.

 

Jon tugs up hard on his handle, slowing himself down by his post. He rests himself in the Keeper's position, high in the air, hundreds of feet above the ground.

 

He can't help but scan out searching into the crowd, praying for the announcer to begin... but what he found was worse.

 

Everyone was definitely looking _right_ at him. Whispering quietly to each other with fearful, shameful expressions.

 

 

Jon catches Dany's eye as she flits by him, her hair whipping clean down her back. She nods at him fiercely, pursing her lips into a determined pout. Her eyes narrow past the crowd protectively of him as she jerks, spinning back around to face the opposing team.

 

Across from her, Drogo was calm. Strongly mounting his broom with one hand, easily balancing himself with heavy power. His thick brows knead together at Dany, furrowing with cocky intimidation. Then he grins wide, his cheeks curving his black war-painted badger stripes, and then suddenly, he drops, angling straight down, bolting off on his broom.

 

He holds out an open oversized arm towards the crowd, drawing the attention away from Jon, demanding for their applause. They slowly start to cheer, and so he raises his flexed arm up and down again, eliciting even more noise as his cape blows gallantly behind him.

 

Soon the crowd erupts into a frenzy, as Drogo cockily circles around again, while the Hufflepuff section drum-chants his name.

 

A speaker-tapping sound echoes over the swooning, cheers and chants, as the Quidditch announcer taps the speaker tip of his wand, once, twice, before speaking, "Testing, one, two. Testing check... Hello?"

 

The crowd laughs, getting louder, as the friendly voice travels throughout the entire oval shaped pitch.

 

"Gooood afternoooon, ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards.... We have finally once again gathered here today, as one,  _united_ school, for the greatly anticipated first Quidditch match of the year!" the boyish voice booms passionately. "The competitors? Last year's reigning champions... _Hufflepuff!_  versus last year's third place team, ... _Grrryffindor_!"

 

The students stomp and cheer wildly from their seats, supporting their houses, waving brightly colored yellow and brown flags, violently swishing their maroon and gold pom-poms.

 

The announcer smoothly sings again, "And my name _is_..." he waits for the crowd expectantly, as the students gain momentum from the drums...

 

"...Hot! Pie!" they rejoice in rabid excitement, the Professors rolling their eyes in unison.

 

"Annnnd, for our entertainment today," Hot Pie continues, "We have our very own _celebrity_  here with us, the mighty, Bulgarian Seeker, _Drogo Dothraki_ , as our Hufflepuff Seeker for today." And almost instantly, girls from about every house section all swoon in a feverish sigh, the boys all hooting out manically, as Hot Pie shouts over them, "...and the Bulgarian Mustang is matched today with Gryffindor's very own Valyrian _Firebird_ , Daenerys Targaryen!" More chants and screaming boom from the Gryffindor side.

 

Jon quickly slides down his weather-proof leather goggles. Then he squints up at the blinding white sky, scrunching up his rough flushed cheeks, waiting for the whistle.

 

He flinches for a moment as the cannon explodes, signaling the ball releasing ceremony. The Quidditch professor, Monsieur Sparrow strides out peacefully onto the field. Behind him, another boy struggles, carrying over the Quidditch chest, dropping it in the center of the pitch.

 

Opening the chest, Monsieur Sparrow carefully lifts out the Quaffle, while the other boy waits by the chained balls for his command.

 

And with the snap of the buckle, he releases the Golden Snitch. Jon targets it, zoning in on the tiny flitting ball, but he loses it fast. Though from what he can see, he watches Dany crane her neck around, still following it with a close eye.

 

"Now I want a nice clean match," the High Sparrow echoes out to the entire stadium. The boy unchains the Bludgers, backing away as they scramble up into the air, trailing a jagged ear-piercing scream in their path.

 

The High Sparrow then bends his knees, throwing up the dark grooved ball, as Hot Pie spews out, "And the Quaffle's been released! The game has begun!"

 

•

 

The crowd cries out in unison, as Hot Pie reports gravely, "Ohhhh! _Tough_ blow, by Gendry Waters!" he echoes, "That was a hard crack by the Bull folks... nearly knocking Hufflepuff chaser, Loras Tyrell off his broom!"

 

The sun had gone down a bit, fading the evening sky into a blended blue and pale pink. Jon scans over at the scoreboard, as the game drags on intensely. He wipes the chilled sweat from his forehead with his cape, checking the numbers again. The score was currently: 100 points to 30 points... And to everyone's surprise, Gryffindor was winning.

 

Tormund circles past Jon with his bat, and then body checks himself into the post, caught in a pick by  following too close behind Leta Lestrange.

 

She zig-zags, hugging the Quaffle with one arm as she blitzes by him, darting sideways to Jon. She decks Tormund off her back, as she slings her arm over him throwing the ball at the left hoop.

 

But Jon's already there, ducking down fast, whacking the Quaffle out with the tail end of his broom back out to Arya. The crowd cheers fanatically, some even scream-chanting his name.

 

The atmosphere has taken quite a turn since Jon has saved nearly 26 shots on goal.

 

"My oh, my, what a guy! Jon Snow with another unbelievable block!" Hot Pie cries out.

 

Up ahead, Dany finally catches a shiny glimpse of the Snitch, whizzing down below by the decks. She swarms, dashing down fast.

 

Drogo zooms past her, also spotting the golden ball and Dany shoves into him hard, grating him against the pitch post's tapestry. He growls as they continue straight down, ramming into each other- soon to reach daringly close to the ground. The crowd audibly holds their breath as they both stretch their arms out for the winning catch.

 

Back by the goal posts, Jon winces as Gendry loads back his one armed-wooden club, about to swing. He waits a beat for the Bludger, and then _smack_ pummels it right into Leta Lestrange, spinning her off beyond the goal posts.

 

"Ooohhhhhh!" The crowd moans in sympathy as Hot Pie winces, "Holy cricket, that's gonna be a tough one to recover from people."

 

Jon focuses his eyes, blinking fast behind his foggy goggles. In the distance, he sees Dany fly, racing side by side with Drogo, smashing him into the post decks. Suddenly Tormund cries out, " _Snow_ watch out!" And Jon snaps his vision back to a wailing Bludger plowing straight for his head.

 

Instinctually he flips upside down, thrashing the ball out with the end of his broom again, tossing it out for Tormund to beat up ahead with his club.

 

The crowd sighs in relief, as Hot Pie responds dramatically, "Oh! Snow! What a backend shot he's got! This folks, has got to be his twenty-" he stops himself upon suddenly recognizing.

 

"Oh no, what's this?"

 

He pauses again, and the crowd goes silent.

 

... "I don't believe it, people. Daenerys Targaryen... has caught the Golden Snitch!!!"

 

"That awards Gryffindor an automatic one-hundred and fifty points! ...Gryffindor _wins_!!"

 

Down below, the red and gold sea of students erupt into a massive celebration. The bass drums plunder on as Dany grins triumphantly, holding her fist up high, while her messy braids flop in the wind. Arya dives down swatting her a high five while Tormund whips around Daario, fist bumping him victoriously.

 

•

 

The dusk faded sky falls darker as a sickening breeze shudders through the forbidden forest. The majestic trees spur in the background from the nightly winds, as the full moon glows round above the canopy. Trailing in a chaotic dancing line towards the school, the champion team of red, skip hops together on a drunken-high, celebrating back towards the castle.

 

Well, all of the champion team except for a _certain two players..._ that were miles back behind them.

 

Dany and Jon walk along the grassy-sand path alone; the cold sky and silver moon following close behind them.

 

They're both still in their dirty uniforms, except now Jon's added on an extra layer. His warm fur coat hangs over his shoulders heavily as he explains to Dany about their meeting with Professor Stark, and that he thinks they're in serious trouble.

 

"He told me he wanted you to come too. I swear."

 

Dany squints at him coyly, as if she's pretending not to believe him. "Mhm hm."

 

He grins back at her, but then quickly looks away again, unexpectedly flustered. "It's true."

 

He just noticed the messy arrangement of her braids, the unexpected way they stuck out in every direction, and his stomach did that funny thing again.

 

"Professor Stark doesn't _joke_ Daenerys. He's a very serious man. So if he wants to see us, then I dunno... I think he _knows_." 

 

Dany rolls her eyes, "Oh come on, no, he can't _know_? The Room of _Requirement_ is a completely safe haven? It's fool proof." She shivers, the biting chill of the wind blowing past them wickedly. "I mean, it doesn't even show up on my father's map?"

 

Ignoring her words completely, Jon shrugs off his coat. "...Are you cold?"

 

She shakes her head at him, but then he steps over, wrapping his giant fur coat around her shoulders anyway.

 

She pauses for a moment, and touches the fur— processing his gesture. Then she purses her lips, holding back a false smile, "I'm not cold Jon..."

 

"Yes you are." He can't help but laugh at how small she looks in it, as hangs draped over her, completely oversized.

 

" _No—_ I'm not." She clutches the furs over her shoulders again and then another shudder ripples through her body. "I'm not cold."

 

He squints one look at her and scoffs.

 

"Okay fine, then here." He reaches for her to take it off, sliding a hand across her back and she ducks away.

 

"Mhm, no..." she slowly spins back around, smirking defiantly.

 

The right corner of his mouth tips up slowly. "...No?" 

 

“Yes.” She giggles, sinking down into the furs, "No," she repeats, slipping her arms in. "I think— I'll keep it on, even though I'm not cold." She pretends to examine down the length of it, the material. "It's quite nice."

 

He stares at her in awe. Observing her. “You always do the opposite of what people say, did you know that? It’s kind of funny to notice.”

 

" _What?_  That’s not true." She argues plainly, "I just... changed my mind."

 

“Exactly,” he chuckles, gesturing to her, "You're proving my point again." Leaning toward her, he clutches over the fur against the small of her back, earning himself a smack on the arm.

 

Then a hopeful thought dawns on him, rethinking her words. "Wait. Changed... your mind?" 

 

 _He couldn't help but think that could have meant something more than literal._ _Maybe about the other night._

 

"Yeah, I’m thinking I'll keep this for the winter coming..." she smirks,  nudging his shoulder, "You know, it's going to be a terrible one, so I've heard."

 

He throws his head back a second, "Oh, so now you’re going to keep it, this whole winter?" He tugs at the collared fur around her neck. “Sorry, that’s not happening." Cold fingers brush against the heated skin of her shoulder, and she squeals in mirth at the chill, recoiling away from him, "Jon! You're like ice!"

 

_Wow._

 

Her laugh paired with his name sings right through him— a wind chime in the crisp wind, and he frowns, stopping dead in his tracks. "Well, Dany that's my favorite coat, so...”

 

She stops too, crossing her arms to face him. He sighs at the ever-nagging thought.

 

That he wants to touch her... skin again.

 

He catches her gaze with that intention, pushing a look with a bit more intensity. She definitely notices and suddenly, she stops laughing.

 

Her smile fades quickly, as he walks closer. "What's wrong?" 

 

He tugs her arm softly, “Nothing.” He reaches around her, slowly pulling her towards him— and as he slides his hand under the coat she inhales a sharp breath at the contact.

 

_Oh._

 

Lowering his head, he slips his hand under and around her waist, and settles himself in against her, wrapping the coat around him too. She freezes as his breath falls husky against her cheek, a whisper to her ear.

 

"Or we could just share." He breathes as his hand, which had first felt cold, was now hot around her waist.

 

Dany regrettably sinks into his touch, her voice shaky. "Jon—"

 

"What?" He murmurs against her neck and she hugs around his waist, allowing him to bury into her further. He dips his chin down humming in between her neck and shoulder, pressing a kiss against her neck, feeling the warmth of her skin against his lips.

 

"No," she barely breathes, paralyzed still. She regains her composure, pushing him off of her, "I don't want to  _share_ things with you."

 

He sighs in avid frustration, rolling his eyes. " _Come on, Dany,_ why can't we... just," he takes her hand by the fur sleeve, "Didn't you, you know,  _change_ your mind?"

 

Her face remains serious and frozen, while she waits for him to finish, but he only sighs deeper, his expression becoming more serious... more disappointed, more longing.  

 

She frowns, caught off guard. "What? You mean about the other night? I wasn't— talking about that. Why would you think that was what I meant?" 

 

He looks into her pale eyes and nods, touching soft over the back of her hand. He flits his eyes down at her lips for a second, "I just want to kiss you—  _like that, again._ I can't stop thinking about it."

 

Her mouth parts open slightly, peering down at his hand pushing under her sleeve, his thumb rubbing smooth circles over her bare wrist. She stutters out, "Jon. We— kissed  _once_. I thought we agreed?"

 

"Agreed on what? And I think it was a little more than once, if I can recall correctly," he smirks unashamed.

 

She glares away, "We agreed when I said that I didn't feel... a connection further to pursue _._ " She breathes heavily, "And then you said, that you didn't either. And so we _agreed_ that it was a stupid idea in the first place?"

 

He exhales a visible, impatient breath of air. Reaching up he tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He closes his eyes, upon feeling her ice cold cheek flushing warm against his fingers. He reaches down and brings up both of her hands between his and sighs hotly against her skin. "No. I want to try again," he murmurs warm against her knuckles. "You know I was lying. I want that feeling again."

 

She stares back at him for a moment, glancing around at the space they were still standing in. Back at the castle that was barely a foggy shadow in the distance. 

 

"No. Jon." she backs away slightly, pulling her hands back down, though curiously, still holding onto them. "This, this is all too much for me right now... and I know, you don't understand—"

 

"Understand what."

 

"That— that after _the other night_... _my head... it's_  just been all...  _messy?_  Because of you?  _I can't— think properly._ "

 

She turns her face away from him, embarrassed as he moves closer to her again. "Something bad is happening, and a walking army of _dead_ people are coming to kill us all and you're actually thinking about something like  _kissing_?"

 

He arches up his brows together softly in defeat, sliding his hands away. Immediately feeling the sting of the cold from where his skin loses contact with hers. He crosses his arms, "Well, when you put it like that..."

 

He starts walking again... back towards the school, "I just don't understand why it can't be both? I mean it's not like we're dealing with those problems in this very moment..."

 

"That's _true_ ," she says, pacing after him, "but I can't _think_ clearly when... I'm feeling like that. I've never felt like that, I've never felt  _anything_ like that before. And I'm not in control of my emotions. So forgive me, if I just can't let myself _feel_ something, as  _silly as that,_ when there's something so much bigger than you and I going on." She bites her lip, "Like for example, _Brandon Stark is completely paralyzed._ Does that mean nothing to you, that he'll never walk again?" 

 

He tilts his head at her for a second in pitied fondness, and then faces her fully— not daring to mention the fact that in fair comparison, they just played a _silly_ game of Quidditch. His eyes soften, watching her pant anxiously in conflicted confusion.

 

_What had scared her so much about him the other night? Was she finally seeing him as the monster he was?_

 

Probably. What happened that night wasn't normal. But he knows it wasn't that feeling that scared her like it had scared him. _She was scared for an entirely different reason_ and he was determined to figure out what.

 

"Hey. It's okay. I'm sorry for... pressuring you." He whispers huskily, "You don't have to do anything that makes you feel stressed."

 

She stares hotly back at him but then her stance diffuses when his eyes darken.

 

"But what you can't do, is let the world's problems dictate how you feel about yourself. You're not responsible for what's happening here, Dany? That's an impossible ideal in itself."

 

She watches his face shifting quietly, a dark shadow moving across, contouring it in an oddly familiar way. Or so he thought? Unable to put his thoughts into words... or _her_ thoughts... she simply just nods back, understanding him.

 

"Okay?" He shuffles around her, stepping away slowly- his dark eyes, asking her to follow him. "We can do this together. We've already learned so much this week, how we can defend ourselves? Now we just take it one step at a time."

 

She nods again, though it seemed as though her thoughts were still rearranging in a jumbled mess.

 

"And then," he goes on, as she follows his steps cautiously. "We'll do what we can when the moment comes..."

 

He ruffles a quiet hand over the furs still on her shoulders. "And in this moment, we need to go meet with Professor Stark."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be a prequel... "The Other Night" ;)


	19. The Other Night

_September 14th, 1917_

_(two days prior)_

 

* * *

 

 

 **Dany**   **marks** a silent spot with her lit wand, moving it slowly across the folded yellow paper, drawing a line down the middle crease. She side glances at Jon, her lips twitching a sly, delicate smirk.

 

 _“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_..."

 

The evening's late, but it's not _too_ late... though it would be soon.

 

 _If_ Tyrion _would ever kindly hurry up._

 

She flinches quietly, as the clock strikes suddenly with a loud  _dong_ , while a few students scramble past them, bickering back to their common room. She smirks to herself slyly, knowing they're not going to make it back before curfew.

 

Together, the two of them hover quietly unnoticed, hidden underneath Jon's invisibility cloak. They stand there waiting in front of the large stone archway, hinged securely over its darkly gigantic wooden door. While crested in the center panel was its glossy, golden eagle head knocker, swaying his brassy feathered head, suspiciously eyeing the students sprinting past.

 

Jon raises his lantern higher above the paper, unraveling the magic before him. Dany smiles at him coyly, never tired of vicariously watching someone else experience the map’s ability to take something so plain and simple, and turn it into something so impossibly brilliant.

 

Small blotches of black ink had begun to pool in spots across the parchment, and she watches as it spreads its way, blurring into the different compartments between the folds. Jon holds back a tiny smile, now aware of Dany eagerly examining his reaction. He gazes his attention back to the cover, as the sorting letters and pictographs rearrange themselves, revealing the fully detailed image map of the Hogwart's castle. Its letters trickling along the edges of the page, steadily spelling out the latin phrases in dark, bolding script.

 

And finally in large print across the middle, the liquid charcoal smoothly draws out the map's title, " _Messrs Venom, Squeeze, Long Claw, and Howler... Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present_..." Dany whispers.

 

" _The Marauders Map_ " she beams at him, lifting up the folded guide slightly, only to tap it enticingly against his cheek. He turns away, scrunching his nose with a short laugh, shielding her with his shoulder.

 

"I can see it, thanks." Jon smirks. She grins back, drawing the map back down in front of them, unfolding it. And as the ink finished it's final touches, she spreads out the perfectly detailed, final, moving-plotted campus of Hogwart's Castle.

 

She slides her finger across at their tiny footprints, informing him how their printed feet were labeled. “And we're right here.” Two pairs of tiny black footprints, labeled with both of their names, hover in one spot, marked _very_ close together, she noticed, in front of the Ravenclaw common room entrance.

 

Jon's eyes catch and follow, tracing an inked path of a pair of footprints belonging to Walder Frey, as he marches along the fourth corridor. He chuckles to her, "This is bloody brilliant."

 

"I told you, it tracks everyone, " she explains.

 

"Yes, but I still couldn't have imagined this. This is incredible."

 

She half-smiles proudly, now noticing something, making her roll her eyes, "And oh, look here, _this_  would be why Tyrion's late. " She frowns in familiarity, gesturing a silent knuckle to Tyrion's little feet, pacing around in his room aimlessly with a still-footed Jojen. “He is truthfully the _smartest_ person I know, yet he still cannot tell time."

 

She folds the map back up, facing the cover towards them, and taps her finger next to the list of names across the front, "It's actually, rather interesting though, if you'd like to know the history?"

 

Jon shrugs, “Yeah, definitely.”

 

“Okay, well, all four of these names were, well, they were actually _students_. _Best_ friends, you could say.” She ignores the historically dormant passion brewing up in her lower stomach. “Two being  _Slytherins,_ andthe other two,  _Gryffindors._ And back then, students  _never_ mixed houses..." 

 

“They sound pretty amazing if they actually made this thing.” His hand grazes her arm holding the map, twitching a half grin. “Genius actually.”

 

She suddenly became strangely hyper aware of him touching her arm. 

 

Since the three of them have been going on these late night adventures for the past two nights, Jon had become much more comfortable with her, and it quite honestly put her on edge. Though she did like it. 

 

"Yes. They were quite the force to be reckoned with," she flits her eyes down darkly, as he consciously let his hand fall. "They designed this entire map in _secret_ , calling themselves, _T_ _he Marauders.“_

 

Jon rubs a thumb over the parchment curiously. “How long do you think it took though, to cover everything? How did they know when to—“

 

“Well, actually...” she squints an eye, going high-pitched, “My uncle Illyrio _does_ think it has been passed on from the ones before them— who’ve then passed it on from the ones before them— and each time, they just... change the names."

 

“Oh, so they’re thieves then?" he teases. 

 

" _No?_ They didn’t _steal_ it _—"_  she narrows her eyes. "They were _gifted_ it, by their presuccessors, by choice, by careful selection. And  actually, my uncle believes it to be _ancient._ I mean, it's amazing if you think about it. He said he thinks it belonged first to the _four_ _original_   _house_ _members,_ " she ogles dreamily. "Considering how remarkable its properties are, really, it's like it's been edited a thousand times over, each generation to the next. They still contributed their part to it, as each generation did before them."

 

"Oh," Jon smirks back at the possibility of her theory, then narrows his eyes in realization, "Wait. So, if your father was _Venom,_ " he whispers, "then who were the other three?"

 

She hums quietly in thought, "Well, I told you how he was an animagus, right?"

 

Jon half nods, so she continues. "So... similar to how _he_ could change into a _rattlesnake_..." she explains, "His three other friends were just like him. They were animagi."

 

”They were all rattlesnakes?” 

 

“No... mhm, that was just my father.” She moves a slender finger under the name, _Squeeze._  " _She_ , Olenna Tyrell, is Margaery's grandmother. She's still alive and well. Very humorous woman when I met her once. Anyway, she could transform herself into a _python_." 

 

Jon's expression looks impressed. She slides her finger over, "And  _Long Claw— well,_ he’s actually our Transfiguration professor, Barristan Selmy," she giggles casually, knowing that would shock Jon. "And he could transform into a _black_ _panther_ ," she grins back scandalously, as Jon arched a brow in disbelief. 

 

Nodding, Dany twists her mouth into a smirk, " _Yes._   And finally, there’s the  _Howler_... better known as  _Rickard Stark_ ,  or Arya's grandfather," she remarks boldly. "He passed away," she remarks solemnly. "But he could transform into a _white_ _wolf._ "

 

Jon gawks at her almost lowly, "Really? He was friends with your father too?"

 

" _Best_ friends," she articulates, her expression hardening. "Well, they all were... until my father betrayed them."

 

_He probably didn't know that. She assumes, knowing far well that he has been kept out of loop with things like this his whole life..._

 

She studies his confused reaction... suspiciously. Pretending to be surprised. She angles her head, facing him fully puzzled, "Wait. Do you not know... what my father _did_ ,  Jon?"

 

A brief, an irrational thought popped in her head that he looked cute at that very moment. _Well, not cute,_ she corrects herself, just honestly rather innocent.

 

Warily uncertain, he shrugs back at her, opening his mouth to say something else-- but suddenly, they're interrupted by the wooden door's lock audibly unhitching.

 

_Finally._

 

Slowly swinging it open, Tyrion shuffles out from behind the large door, waddling under through the stoned archway, carrying a stack of books taller than him.

 

"A little help— would be nice, my invisible friends," he chides, huffing out of breath. He glances around hopefully, waiting for one of them to answer.

 

Jon slides the cloak off of their heads carefully, hopping over to help the struggling boy. "Here," he bends over, reaching down to take a heavy, five or six books from his pile.

 

Dany scoffs, scolding him, "Where were you?"

 

"I was... talking to _Jojen?_  About Bran's condition," he sighs bitterly. "He's _worried_  about his best friend, if that's not so hard to believe," he sticks out his foot, holding open the hundred pound door with a tired wince.

 

He places the rest of the text books onto the carpeted floor. "And a simple _thank you_ for the books would be sufficient, by the way," he berates. "I did do this on my own time."

 

She frowns at him for a moment— but then relaxes, exhaling deeply. "Sorry. Thank you, Tyrion. Now, are you coming with us or not?"

 

He furrows his brow in a scowl, "No, I am not coming with you tonight."

 

"What? Why?" she shakes her head strictly.

 

 _Why did that suddenly flood her body with rigid anxiety?_ She had the map tonight, she didn't exactly _need_ him, but...

 

He looks away brazenly, "Dany, I think I've searched quite enough for my part, have I not? And I _did_ tag some pages that I thought were interesting. So let me know what you think."

 

She waits for the pause, the condescending joke, or for him to make fun of her again, but to her surprise, he doesn't.

 

"Really?" she squints at him fondly.

 

"Yes..." he stares back at her disconcertingly. She grins back newly intrigued, and bends down, picking up a dusty leather bound book from the pile on the floor. "Hmm... interesting," she twitches a smirk.

 

"Oh, alright..." Tyrion gives up, shifting on his feet awkwardly, peering away towards the corridors. "Yes, I found some insightful information. And well, as you know, I am not often _wrong_ about things." He holds up his pinched forefinger and thumb, "But on those slim, _rare_ occasions, when I am wrong... I do understand when an apology is in order."

 

As much as they bickered like siblings, Tyrion once and a while, managed to stubbornly reveal his secretly, true, gentle heart to her (always in private). And she cherished these moments in their friendship more than anything.

 

He motions to her sincerely, "So... I am   _sorry_   Dany, for not believing you about all this. Really."

 

She places a quiet hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Tyrion, but there's no need to apologize." She eyes him thoroughly. "You question all theories, before you accept them as facts. Which is why you're always the first I go to for help. I need your wise counsel."

 

"Thanks." He harrumphs, shying away, and then glances at Jon quickly, quietly clearing his throat, "Right, well, you two better get going then," he warns. "If floors six and seven are your destination tonight, then..." he moves further inside the door, as Dany gathers the cloak ready from the floor. "Just please, be extra careful, Dany? You know those are the most dangerous levels."

 

"We will," she acknowledges, expertly hiding her excitement behind her cold, serious features. And yes, she knows it’s a wrong feeling to have in these types of situations, and that it’s also completely inappropriate, but she just can’t help it.

 

"You have the map tonight, right?" 

 

"Yes. We'll be fine." She grumbles.

 

He nods at them shortly— "Okay then, good luck," and then turns around, pulling the iron handle, shutting the door quietly behind him. 

 

Jon stares back at her blankly, still holding a pile of books almost up to his chin.

 

"Sorry, but _how_ are we going to carry all these around?" he whispers sarcastically. “What if we don't find anywhere? I can't carry these around all night? And we can’t be seen with them— and they are definitely not fitting under my cloak.”

 

"Jon, stop," she smiles cockily, as she had been waiting for him to ask. She simply pulls out a small velvet clipped bag from her robes, holding it out smug in front of him.

 

He squints at her skeptically, then lets her know with a quick smirk, "Uhm, _yeah, I don't think they're going to fit in there either_ —" he flinches suddenly, as she whips out her wand, pointing it out at the bag.

 

" _Capacious extremis_."

 

A bright blue light flashes and then she tucks her wand away smartly, holding out the open bag for Jon to dump in the books. "Go ahead," she says, while he blinks back at her, wisely unsure.

 

He goes ahead anyway and drops in one book. And then another, and then guardedly, a third... He twitches a smile back at her in realization. "An undetectable extension charm?" he asks, newly impressed. "Brilliant, again."

 

"Yes, and that's about the only bit of magic we can use tonight, as magic detection spells could find us anywhere if we use too much." She shakes the bag again, "Now dump them in there and let's go. We've only a limited time to search the sixth floor."

 

She would never dream of admitting, but she couldn't deny the fluttering sensation creeping madly inside her, especially, as Jon draped the cloak over the both of them. She thought the nerves were due to excitement, but they were quite obviously now, self-consciously unsettling.

 

This was the first night it was to be only the two of them, and something told her this adventure was going to be slightly out of her element.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 


	20. The Scar

 

_September 14, 1917_

 

_(two days prior)_

 

* * *

 

 

 **Jon** **shuffles** along with Daenerys, passing rows of dusty chiaroscuro-painted sleeping portraits, men, women, babies, and animals snoring lightly in their unstirred slumber.

 

He stops, as she exhales loudly, wistfully slowing to a pathetic stop in front of the stone wall opposite the hanging tapestry of _Barnabas_ _the_ _Barmy_.

 

 _They had been searching for nearly an hour._ Though Dany, being so close beside him, was keeping him fully awake.

 

She arches an expression of nearly giving up, whispering to herself, "Sixth floor, nothing. Seventh floor, nothing." Then she looks to him, "Where else can we go?"

 

"I dunno," he shrugs. "Maybe, if we can get all Gryffindors on board with us... we could just gather together in the common room? Until we find something better?"

 

She pouts in frustration, "Yes. But what if the ministry _does_ come here? They're debating Dumbledore's sanity after he made that statement about Bran's encounter. They surely wouldn't approve of what we're planning."

 

Jon really hoped those rumours weren't true.

 

"Hmm..." She paces back and forth, "There just, there _has_ to be somewhere we can go. A place, where no one can hear or see us... A place to hide, if something bad were to happen? We need to prepare to protect ourselves."

 

They both freeze.

 

What was that?

 

They both heard it... The sudden sound of scraping rock, chalking against itself in a rotating motion, begins to unveil quietly in front of them.

 

 _What's going on?_  He grabs her elbow, as the bricks swivel around in place, now revealing to open up as a gateway to an unknown beyond. And then they start to slow to a final motionless formation, compiling together in a formed, solid archway. The two Gryffindors stare ahead, processing intimately what could possibly be awaiting for them in the empty space before them.

 

It's a room?

 

Jon squints cautiously into the mysterious space. It was indeed, a room. A room coincidently, _no suspiciously,_  embodying exactly what Dany just wished for out loud.

 

 _Oh. He_ knows _she's going to make him go in there._

 

"Dany... wait."

 

She scans curiously into the abyss, gravitating towards it. She takes a first step, blindly walking right into it, and Jon immediately guides a hand over her shoulder. “Dany, wait? We don't know what's in here...”

 

Of course, she would ignore him? He follows after her begrudgingly, cautiously slipping off the cloak from his head.

 

"It's an empty room, though?" she smirks slowly. Her tiny hands, observing the conveniently provided tidy furniture, perfectly arranged in this strange, magical setting. She motions suddenly over to the multiple bunkers that were spread out in even rows across the wide open space. “What _is_ this place?”

 

This place was _not_ empty. 

 

There was furniture and living space, and— his uneasy feeling was now smoothly replaced with awe, spotting the endless sets of aged black armor, stainless steel _muggle_ -weapons— all hanging in a neat line along the wall. “ _Wow._ ”

 

They looked vaguely familiar...

 

"Yes, _wow_. This is..." she pauses theatrically, "This is, _precisely_ , everything I just asked for a moment ago," she gapes at him haughtily. Like this was clearly all her doing. "Even those weird, sharp tools— which I guess, we could use if we had to," she squints her eyes, turning to him in confusion, "but how can that be? _Where are we?_ "

 

He shrugs, completely clueless. "I have no idea." Then his cheeks start to spread into a small smile, peering back over at the muggle weapons. "And those _sharp tools_ , are called _swords,_ by the way." He checks back up at the wall of endlessly carved obsidian.

 

She rolls her eyes with a hiss. "I   _know_   that."

 

Jon pauses, touching he pad of his finger along the bumped, razor sharp edge of the obsidian axe hanging bold and shiny on the wall in front of him. "But was this place even on your map? Check if there’s a name on there—"

 

Behind them all the sudden, the rock wall starts to move again. Rearranging itself in a swift, marble-knocking moment, slowly putting itself back together.

 

Oh, shit.

 

"Hurry!" She lunges, running quickly towards it, "Jon?"

 

No way. He knew there was in no way, enough possible time for either of them be able to get out.

 

Solidly, she freezes, realizing too, as the bricks rotate its final formation like a puzzle, fully and finally closing them off completely from the dark corridors of the seventh floor.

 

_Well..._

 

_Looks like they're stuck here._

 

The idea ironically made him chuckle.

 

The silent room was dimly lit, carrying a familiar homey atmosphere to it, Jon had perceived, now sifting his vision across. “Well, looks like we’re stuck here.” He says out loud plainly, continuing to inspect the miscellaneous swords, daggers and arrows nailed along the wall.

 

These weapons were beautiful. 

 

She scratches her head in thought, now looking at him in utter betrayal, "Are you actually _smiling_ — wait, do you think this is _funny?_ " she glares at him, (as he just shrugs back with a small grin), shaking her head, "That we're trapped here? Tell me, how are we going to get out? There has to be a spell of some kind..."

 

"I don't know. We'll figure something out." He continues admiring the swords, picking up one of the daggers off the wall.

 

_Why did they so oddly remind him of home?_

 

"...Jon?" She folds her arms, "This place was _not_ on my map. I know every square inch of this castle." She pads back over to him curiously, flipping open the map, "Well, except this floor... And oh, look, there's still nothing there!" she shakes the map out in front of him. "No label, no name. It’s like we’re  _nowhere_."

 

"We're not _nowhere_ , Dany..." he huffs quietly, "But it is strange,” he glances back at her again, suddenly realizing the honest concern on her brow, and he feels bad. “I'm sorry," he walks closer to her. "But don't you think this is... interesting? Considering the circumstances?"

 

"No? What circumstances?"

 

He raises his eyes around the room, exploiting the very obvious details as explanation, "Uhm, well, we're in a _hidden room_ in Hogwarts castle for starters... And this  _room_ , has literally opened itself up for us." He peers back at her in disbelief, "Dany, its almost like it _heard_  you."

 

"We don’t know that for sure..." 

 

Now it was his turn to point out the obvious. "Dany. You announced,  _out loud_ , wishing for just about everything in here before the room opened up."

 

She takes that in for a moment. Like she clearly knew that already, but still wasn't entirely convinced. She glances at him smartly.

 

"Well," she says, her tone dripping with disdain, "That's true. Everything in here _is_ exactly what we would need...in our situation," she quips warily. "And yes, it _has_ conveniently provided us with everything we might require to protect ourselves at some point," she pauses, her panicking tone escalating back, "But it was only just to  _lock_  us in here afterwards!"

 

"Oh, come on, Dany, I would've thought you would have been excited about this, you know, if I had known beforehand," he eyes her honestly. "We'll find a way out? Okay, I promise, I would never let anything happen to you?"

 

She raises a shocked dark brow at his words.

 

Whoops. Maybe that was too bold of him. "I want to get out of here too, I mean."

 

She nods dutifully. Suddenly regaining her composure like it was completely her choice.

 

"Yes, _okay_..." she murmurs, a bit even more rational now, "You're wholeheartedly right, Jon." She paces away measurably, now whispering out loud, "Yes..." her eyes begin to glow, "Maybe there's...uhm, no—  _maybe,_ it’s... just like the _changing stairs?_  Or the train carts? You know, like random?"

 

That's the look he was waiting to return back to her aura. Perpetual curiousity.

 

He grins back at her, "Yes, exactly." He watches her shoulders relax, "Okay... so don't worry," he says, as she suddenly strides over to the wooden chest in the corner, now examining the drawers next to one of the bunkers. Not in any way acknowledging his words of comfort.

 

_The walls she puts up are probably stronger than the very one closing them off to the castle._

 

"And exactly what you said," she yells from further away, "Like, it’s almost like the room is... sentient? Like a kind-of magically adapting room... like a room of... a   _room_   of—“

 

What is she trying to remember? He could tell something had suddenly sparked her interest, dissuading her nerves back to normal.

 

"A room of requirement!" she bursts out suddenly, surprising his thoughts, "Tyrion told me about this once! Only... _he thought it was a myth?_ But I think, I'm pretty sure at least, that you ask it something, and it will give to you whatever you _require_  at that moment! Anything you need—"

 

Uh-oh.

 

To Jon's own caution, he backs up, as she gains momentum whipping out her wand towards the ceiling, taking a strong stance. She glances back at him, then takes a deep breath, demanding, "Uhm, _Room_?"

 

"Dany, wait-"

 

Slowly, she turns to him, and then carefully shouts out again, "Room?  _You will now show us,_ "

 

_Show us..._

_show us..._

 

 _Jon swore the walls echoed her. Or was that just what would occur in_ any _large room?_

" _Fifty chocolate frogs,_ " she bellows.

 

He gapes at her with a chuckled scoff. "Are you serious? _Of all things to choose from?_ " He laughs again. "Why not money... or jewels, or something useful?"

 

"I don't know," she turns to him in offense. "It was the first thing I could think of... that wouldn't hurt us—” she stops, thinking she heard something across the room.

 

_Smart._

 

Jon thinks that's what he admires the most about her.

 

However, as she rushed over to the corner, there was still only silence.

 

They continue to wait for something to happen. But the room remains quietly still— with nothing changed or unchanged.

 

She frowns in disappointment, "Hmm... well that didn't work..."

 

"Well, yeah..." he chokes out a possibility. "Maybe it only gives us things we really need? Or maybe it only works from the outside, I don't know..."

 

She nods, considering his approach. "Yes, maybe," she pulls out her bag from her robes, taking out some books. "And you're right, it's logical we make the most of this situation, until we can figure out a way out of here. There's no sense fearing the worst when we could at least use our time wisely and look through some of the chapters Tyrion marked for us..." She looks to him again more composedly. "I'm sorry I wasn't thinking rationally. That was an incredibly stupid way to react."

 

He strides over to her sincerely, "Hey? That was a completely normal reaction, okay?" He touches her arm over her robes just barely. "Don't apologize, I'm still nervous too. I just wanted to help you then, to stay calm. And if the walls don’t open again soon... or randomly... then we’ll just have to figure something else out. And we will, I promise."

 

•

 

Jon skims absently through the tagged chapter on " _Horcruxes"_...

 

This would have been so unbelievably boring, if it weren't for the fact that she was sitting so close to him on the conveniently provided couch. Every so often, he would watch her reading, and notice things about her that he hadn't before. 

 

Like that she was constantly moving. Her knee bouncing slightly against the cushion. Or her fingers twirling her pen, deep in thought. Or the vein that popped out on her left hand as she wrote. 

 

All while he just sat there, like a lump on a log. Staring at her.

 

Surely she must have noticed. Maybe he was making her nervous?

 

"Why are watching me?" she asks, peering her eyes up knowingly.

 

He stutters, "Oh- no, sorry, I was just zoning out. I'm getting kind of tired." He closes his book, leaving the page marked. "I haven't found anything interesting."

 

She sighs, fidgeting back into a pretzel style facing him more fully. "Me neither, I suppose."

 

"What should we do then?"

 

He gulped. _What should we do?_ Oh _god_ , did a million things- _thoughts_... just surface his mind without his permission.

 

The idea didn't sound as nearly alarming, as it did until it came out, and she just sat there. The question hung in the air with an uncertainty he knew was only in his own head.

 

Sam warned him. She obviously didn't think of him like that. _And what was worse, was that he could tell she knew he did think of her like that_ , which made him even more self-conscious.

 _This was strictly professional, he_ _repeated to himself._

 

Luckily, she just smirked back and paid him nothing but a casual response. "I don't know... Keep looking I guess?"

 

 _How did she have this kind of mental energy?_  If it weren't for the hormonal adrenaline coursing through him, he would be very close to falling asleep, which would ultimately be the worst case scenario. And his adrenaline was already fading, leaving him even more tired than before. They had to get out of here.

 

"I don't think I can anymore." He admits sheepishly. "I may... fall asleep."

 

She half-chuckles, sitting up straighter from her comfortable spot on the couch. "Well how about we give it another half hour of waiting for something to happen, and then we could start testing our way out?" She shakes her head reassuringly, "We can't sleep in here, I won't let you fall asleep."

 

He bites back his lip in response, "Okay," swallowing languidly, "How?"

 

"Well, I could tell you a story," she smiles, tucking her silver hair behind her ear. "The one, you didn't get to hear, about my father?"

 

Oh, well that did intrigue him more than anything. _But he didn't want to pry, like he did the last time about her mother, and make her uncomfortable again._

 

"No, it's okay, you don't have to," he looks across at her, noticing her fingers playing with her robe.

 

She peers up at him confused, so she elaborates. "No, Jon I want to." She bites her lip indifferently. Then places her book down on her lap, replying plainly, "It was a long time ago, and I never really knew him anyway..."

 

This _would_ keep his mind awake.

 

She shuffles over to sit next to him, and he glances at her, chuckling awkwardly.

 

_Yeah, this would definitely keep him awake._

 

"Okay... then sure, I'd love to." He glances down and tucks his knees to the side of him on the back cushion, reclining to the side. He tosses his book along top with the other messy pile on the floor, and then looks up at her, attentively waiting.

 

As nervous as she made him, _how come he felt so comfortable with her alone?_ Like as if they were old friends, gossiping in a late night talk. Okay this _was_ strange when he put it into that perspective. Though it did make him less anxious.

 

"Alright, well," she begins enticingly, " _My father_ , Aerys II Targaryen, was— or well,  _is_ , rather, an awful man. I'm not proud to admit that. That he is my own flesh and blood." 

 

He shrugs carelessly, trying to prove to her still, that he would never judge her.

 

"Okay, so the truth is, when my father finished his final year at Hogwarts, he started to become a bit _madly_ obsessed with keeping magical blood pure, and then especially after his first child."

 

"You?"

 

"Uhm, no... my brother. And as you know, my family, being related to the blood of old Valyria... they’ve kept the strict tradition of only having children within their bloodline," she says confidently, though he thought he heard her voice slightly catch.

 

 _He knew Targaryens couldn't have children the same way as everyone else._ But in this case, he would play dumb.

 

She looks across the room at the wall of armor, distracting herself. “Because, there is something _inhuman_ in our genetics, where, we cannot have children otherwise."

 

He doesn't quite know what that entails that she so openly told him that, but he fixates his eyes on her intensely, sympathizing any way he could. "Dany you don't have to talk about this, I'm serious." 

 

"I said I want to." Her expression changes, now taking a slightly darker turn. "Though, there was one exception. My uncle. My real uncle. Not Uncle Illyrio. A doomed example of proof, as to why we cannot mix blood. But I'll explain that later."

 

Wait.

 _How_ had he not realized this before? 

 

"Dany... is your real uncle... _Grindelwald?_ " he asks gravely.

 

She nods back patiently, and he now understood the saddened certainty of her voice. "So my mother gave birth to my older brother, their first born child." She lowers her tone, "And at first, they were _ecstatic_ because well, he was a _boy_ , but then, soon they realized.”

 

He felt the sudden urge to touch her cheek, but he stopped himself. 

 

"Something was _wrong_  with him."

 

He slides over slightly closer to her, placing his elbow above the couch to lean against, "I didn't know you had an older brother, though?"

 

"Yes, my older brother, Rhaegar." She scratches her cheek, "I suppose I don't really like to talk about him I guess, but... she gives him a barely there smile, then shakes her head. "He unfortunately, is a main part to this story." She sniffs, folded her robed arms across her chest. "Again, it shouldn't really even matter how I feel, considering I never met him, either."

 

He shrugs at her patiently. Feeling like saying she didn't have to talk about it, would only make her more angry again. 

 

“But Rhaegar, he was _different_ from everyone else. And as he grew older, my parents finally realized that he couldn't perform magic. That he was a Squibb."

 

"Oh." Jon breathes, "Like Walder Frey?" 

 

"Yes. And this drove my father to the brink of insanity. He _refused_ to accept him as his real son. He couldn't understand how he could bare a child that was not only, _not a_ _dragon-_  but a child, that couldn't even perform simple  _magic_." She looks up at him, "And as years passed, with the way my father treated him- it eventually triggered his own madness. He grew very jealous living without magic in the magical world. And then one day, he told my parents that he was leaving for good, and that he would _never return_. And for once, my father and him, actually agreed on something— though, my mother wept in disagreement."

 

"...Where did he go?" Jon asks slowly.

 

"Well. He said he wanted to live a new life in the Muggle world, to study there. But when he left, he also took something with him... in _spite_ of my father," she turns to Jon, her eyes shining with disgust.

 

 _“He_ _kidnapped my father's, best friend's daughter, for_ revenge _._ "

 

Jon mirrors her shamed expression, "What, which friend? _A Marauder?_ " He shifts inwards again, sliding his arm back to stretch along the top of the couch. He felt her hair brush against his arm and felt an electrical charge flow up inside him.

 

"Yes," she glances subtly at his arm, "Rickard Stark's daughter, Lyanna. Who was said to be the loveliest, kindest, most beautiful witch anyone had ever seen... according to my uncle Illyrio's memory— he knew her," she smiles, yet her eyes still remained distant and cold. "And so my brother... _took_ her somewhere into the Muggle world, holding her as his prisoner." She shrugs bitingly, "They believe he must have had someone do the Imperius curse on her... it's disgusting that squibbs can actually pay for that, you know."

 

He frowns roughly, "So, well... what did your father do then? Or her father?"

 

"Well. Rickard had _first_ , sided with my father, as he held his own _similar_ prejudices against my brother. But... he _loved_ his daughter more than life itself..." she whispers. "So my father, he knew Rickard couldn't come with him... and when he finally tracked Rhaegar down..."

 

Jon knew how this story was ending.

 

"He went _without_ Rickard, and instead went with his _sociopathic_ nephew." she states harshly. "He knew Rickard would stop him from doing...  _what he was going to do_."

 

Jon blinks back at her, nodding cautiously in acknowledgment.

 

"My father went and _killed_ my brother with the Unforgivable curse..." she spits flatly, "And standing at his side, was my uncle, my _real_  uncle... _Grindelwald_ , who went ahead and killed poor Lyanna, right afterwards, just because he could," she grits her teeth. "All right as Rickard, and his son Ned, Professor Stark came to her rescue. But it was too late."

 

Jon veers down at her hands, and then rubs his thumb smooth over knuckles, once, twice.

 

She stares down at it intensely, and at first he was sure she was going to jolt her hand back. But she just stares at it, and then slowly lets two of her fingers lace with his. Then for a few more moments, just watches him continue, gently stroking over the back of her hand.

 

He didn't even think twice about what he was feeling in that moment, so wrapped up in trying to feel what she felt. Until she pulled her hand out from under his, he didn't even grasp the idea he was actually touching her, and how soft her skin really was.

 

He leans back casually, trying to keep the conversation from turning awkward. "So then... what happened?"

 

Her shoulders fall a bit. "Then they dueled, Rickard versus  _Grindelwald_... all while my father sat there _like a coward_ , watching as Grindelwald soon  _murdered_   his own best friend."

 

_Wow._

 

"And then they fled the scene, leaving poor Ned all alone to mourn his dead sister and his dead father."

 

"I can't believe he's your uncle."

 

Dany nods back blankly, her stony expression reigning completely emotionless. "Yes. The family exception. Not completely Targaryen, therefore not completely human. Everyone knew what he would become since he was born, so he kept his mother’s last name in secret when he went to school—not that that changed anything eventually anyway," she recites, her eyes blurry, detached. "But in the end, they captured my father right away, and obviously, they were never able to find Grindelwald..."

 

"Don’t you think he's dead though?"

 

“People think so, but I don't." She bites her lower lip in thought. "I swear, Jon I can...  _feel_ him sometimes. If that sounds crazy? Like something inside of my chest starts burning. And I think, one day he is going to come for me... as I _am_ the last Heir of Valyria, the last line of Targaryen power. Even if I am a girl." She exhales wearily, "But until then... I'll be ready. And if it comes down to it, I won't be afraid to kill him for what he did."

 

"Wow," he nods flatly, his mouth going dry again. "You'd kill him just for revenge?"

 

"No. I'd kill him for not only  _justice,_ but also for all of the muggles and muggleborns he planned to destroy. Or plans to," she responds honestly. "But still amongst all that, we still have a more pressing matter on our hands."

 

"That's true. I didn't forget about that," he smiles faintly, sitting up straighter. "But can I ask, why do you want to become a _journalist_? I mean, you clearly like to get involved in these kind of situations. Why don't you want to become an auror?"

 

_Oh no, he was prying again._

 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to-" he starts to protest, but she opens her mouth, slightly taken aback, telling him as if it were obvious. "Well, I can't. Because aurors can only work within the constraints of the law..." she argues pointlessly. "And— then, theres the fact, well, my uncle Illyrio always said, that an auror, well, it is not a _ladies_  job."

 

“What?” He wrinkles his brow at her in shock. That was not a very Dany-like response.

 

"As a reporter I can do more," she explains, "and I think people deserve to hear the _truth_. The _whole_ truth. And I wouldn't be afraid to provide people with real answers, not lies."

 

The way she saw the world as so changeable, so fixable... seemed to make his heart swell with pride. Though it was naive. Though he could never admit that. How was it that he barely knew her, and could already feel this way about her?

 

Like he _knew_ her?

 

He glances away, hiding his thoughts, admitting carefully, "Of course you're not afraid, but I don't think it always works like that... Sometimes people as a whole, they can't always handle the truth.”

 

She glares at him confused, so he sighs, "I mean, a person could handle the truth, of course, but _people..._ When people as a wholeknow the truth, that's what’s really dangerous. Because one person may react towards truth with bravery, but others in mass, could turn against it in fear."

 

He hoped that didn't sound mean. Because he really just wanted her to know that.

 

His serious expression softens, twitching a slow half-smile. "And who said you can't you do both?" He slides his hand up her arm, leaning in closer.

 

Her body reacts slightly to his touch, becoming more tense, but her violet eyes were distant in thought. Like she was forcing herself not to feel him.

 

"Jon, I can't be both." She says matter-of-factly.

 

He huffs, "Well, I've seen you bend your way around the school rules in more ways than I could count. And from what I've seen what you can do since I met you, I think you'd make a great auror. Certainly better than any _manly_ wizard out there today." His hand crawls down, lightly still over her forearm, though he's not quite sure what he was still even trying to do.

 

_Why was he touching her?_

 

_She clearly doesn’t want to be touched by him—_

 

She stares at him suddenly with a look of utter shock. Like she just realized something awful. Or new, or something he couldn't even imagine. 

 

"Dany, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" his thoughts stutter, as she reaches up to the hand he just lifted off her forearm, her fingers linking with his from the back. "No."

 

She guides his hand up the length of her relaxed bicep, his breath catching stuck in his throat, his eyes following the trail of their twined hands. She moves him, making him touch the skin over her shoulder, pausing in the crook of her neck. He swallows as his fingers slide from the fabric of her robes to cup the soft skin of her jaw. He feels her pulse thickening and palms over a vein, a strange hunger pooling in his stomach.

 

“How do you... always know what I’m thinking?” she asks him, glaring back at him with an unreadable expression, and his heart started to pound, aching in his chest, suddenly feeling too hot under the touch of her skin. Her lilac eyes fall, a ghost of a smile fading, while her gaze began to harden. 

 

He swallows. "I don't feel like I do."

 

She moves his hand up from her jaw to her face. _Shit_.

 

"Kiss me." She holds his hand there. "I just want to see if..." she trails off, looking up at his forehead. Barely touching his hairline with her fingertips. "Your mind... is different."

 

He shudders a breath, closing his eyes, hiding under the microscope that was her curious eyes, his thumb grazing to a slow stop over her cheek. He opens his eyes as her skin pinked warmer, leaning her face in towards him, like she was searching for something, making his insides churn sickeningly.

 

_What did she mean by his mind was different?_

 

"Okay. I'll kiss you." He closes his eyes again, swallowing. He leans in soft, the scruff of his cheek almost grazing her chin. His clouded thoughts dissipate for a moment, snapping himself out of it, wondering how they even ended up like this.

 

_Holy shit. What's happening._

 

Her lips buzz against his cheek as she hums, moving her hand from his own, curiously up to his face, holding him in place. She turns, her mouth now against his cheek and she hears his breath catch. 

 

"I feel like I know you." She pulls back a moment, looking into his eyes, waiting for a reaction. She was staring into his eyes so intensely that Jon felt something inside him that almost mimicked fear. “Do you ever... feel like that too?"

 

 

His breath stutters. "Yeah." His racing thoughts instantly fade quiet, while his heart simultaneously thudded erratically in his chest. 

 

What had changed so suddenly, and _intensely_... that she was doing this?

 

He felt like his throat was closing, like he was retreating in and out of his own mind. Like his thoughts mixed lucid with something else and started to float away. He blinked rapidly, trying to grasp desperate hold to his consciousness. "Dany... I feel strange." 

 

She cups his face strong but gentle, now sitting up flat on her knees. "It's o _kay._ " Her pale eyes search his for a long moment, holding a soft hand up to the rough of his beard. She moves forward, closing the little amount of space that was between them. She leans down and plants her lips on his.

 

His head felt like it was on fire, but his body cold. He kisses her back roughly, his hooded eyes darkening heavily, placing a gentle hand on the small of her back.

 

She cradles his face, pulling back slightly to look at him. And then she leans in again, sliding against his face and he can feel her breath hot, hovering over his mouth. He swallows thickly, and then nods, angling his face against hers, pressing his lips back to her own.

 

Her lips were closed against his at first, but then they open with his, exhaling into his mouth, tasting him, and he reciprocates intuitively, sliding in his tongue. Gliding it soft against hers.

 

He didn't feel like himself. Like something was taking over him... like his ideas, dreams, passions, memories were all jumbled together in one big hot melting pot that was his now skull.

 

_What the fuck was happening to them._

 

She feels over his sculpted arms as they hug around her back, pulling her down on top of him.

 

_He needed to lie down._

 

He ducks his head into the crook of her shoulder as she lays down on top of him. Sliding against him.  _Oh_. He breathes into her neck overwhelmed, kissing her there deeply. 

 

"Fuck _..._ " he pants, suddenly feeling his thoughts clear into even words again, making him feel more in control.

 

He flips her over onto her back, laying her down on the couch, planking over top of her, resting his elbows on either side of her shoulders. He looks down at her swollen mouth, and sifts his vision back up to her eyes, checking if everything's still okay.

 

Staring back at him with complete wonder and want, she whispers. "Are you okay?"

 

He chuckles lightly, "Uhm. I think so... _"_  Brushing his cheek against hers, kissing her lips warmly again. He reaches under her polo shirt to untuck it, his thumb rubbing up her stomach. "How did you know that would happen?" he chuckles again, "Not that I even understood what the fuck just happened."

 

"I don't know," she almost moans, pulling him down, kissing his neck. "I felt something... odd. And just wanted to try it." She breathes against him, and he closes the space between their lips. She snakes her hands around, slipping them under his own shirt, guiding them up his back.

 

He exhales into her mouth softly, as her small hands explore over his shoulder blades. Her fingertips running sensually down the bumps of his spine, gripping softly against and with his contracting back muscles.

 

She glides her hands from around his bare back... to just inches above his belt line, moving them up his chest. Meticulously, she touches delicately around the pronounced square muscles of his abdomen, and then massages over— an edged, raised _mark_. 

 

_The scar— His scar._

 

She inhales sharply when he flinches, his hand grasping over hers through his shirt. "Don't—" he exhales softly, panting against her neck. Then he lets go of his grip on her, sitting up slightly.

 

Watching his eyes, she cautiously looks down, smoothing her fingers back over again, touching across the pronounced, jagged scar on his chest.

 

"What _happened_ to you?" The strain in her voice seemed less empathetic than he would have guessed her to react. She sounded more or less just... _concerned._

 

“Nothing.” He responds in the same tone.

 

She frowns, her dark brows knitting together innocently. “Was this from the white walker?” She feels across the zig-zagged shape stretching over his heart— but then stops in new realization.

 

He brushes back a fallen white lock of hair out of her eyes, "No. This. I've always had this," he sighs, glancing back down his chest. She pulls her hand back absently.

 

And Jon could have sworn he saw a hint of fear in her eyes. "How?" She asks quietly.

 

_Why was she so afraid of his scar?_

 

"From when I was a baby... I think I was born with it."

 

She nods knowingly... and then scoots back from underneath him, pulling her shirt back down tighter. "We— should go back. This was a foolish thing to do." She smooths down her hair, then her robes, standing up.

 

He squints back at her confused, "What? _Why all of a sudden?_ What are you thinking right now— what's wrong?"

 

"I'm thinking this was unwise. Because," she distracts herself, neatly re-stacking the pile of books from the floor already. “I was just caught in the heat of the moment, and I was curious, but now I understand that connection fully. And no longer need to explore that curiosity. _“_

 

"Uh huh..." he comments dryly, "and what made you realize that? What's wrong with my scar?"

 

"It's not your scar?" She holds her elbows against her ribs, reasoning coldly, "I just didn't feel anything special, alright? _Why_  continue doing something, that you know would never work out?"

 

_He examines her expression closely. She's worried, or scared, about something..._

 

But he doesn't want to upset her any more, with _whatever_ it's about, so he lets it go... for now.

 

"Alright, I understand. Something was missing," he glances away firmly, "I guess I felt that too. Let's just leave. We need to figure a way out anyway soon."

 

"You did?" Dany remarks coolly, when suddenly the sound of bricks knocking in collision again, catches both of their attention.

 

Jon's brows climb to his forehead, strangely amused.

 

Of course.

 

 _They_ need _to leave_ _now_ _._ _So the room’s_ letting them leave _..._

 

The door to the Room of Requirement reveals itself yet another time. He immediately grabs the cloak, taking her by the hand, "Okay, let's hurry. We can leave the books here, and then make a plan to come back again— with everyone. Better we go right now without the books, than we get trapped in here, for who knows how much longer."

 

"Yeah, that would be dreadful." She eyes him thoroughly. Suddenly she snaps her eyes back from his intense gaze, shooting a glare towards the opening doorway into the hall. "Okay. You're right, let's go."

 

She follows behind him out into the corridors, and he throws the cloak back over both of their heads. "Remember," he says, "The- requiring room would be right across from that tapestry of that... troll."

 

" _Barnabas the Barmy._ " She shakes her head, correcting him. "And it’s called the  _Room of Requirement."_

 

She slows her steps with him, but continues looking straight ahead. "By the way, we're not telling anyone else about this yet. Okay?"

 

"A couple hours ago you were just telling me how we needed to tell everyone—" he pauses, nodding, "whatever, I don't care," not even bothering to argue with her. She glances back at him for a second, a trace of guilt almost flashing over her dark purple eyes.

 

They shuffle back to the common room together, stubbornly silent throughout the corridors. Dany's careful enough not to accidentally brush his shoulder, unlike the way they purposefully did on the way there.

 

Jon holds the lantern up in front of him, as the sounds of the knocked out—  _snoring_ Fat Lady near closer. The whole way, his stomach dropping in conflicting pleasure, regrettably thinking about the buzzing feeling he still felt on his lips.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 


	21. Winter is Coming

_September 16th, 1917_

 

* * *

 

 

 **Dany** **steps** off of the ascending stone Eagle lift, following close behind Ned Stark- who was leading both her, and Jon blind into Dumbledore's office.

 

Her shivers started to melt away immediately upon entering the fire-lit room, their shadows glowed golden in the heat as they walked in quietly. The tall book cases and miscellaneous shelves surrounded the two Gryffindors in a half circle, while dark moving portraits narrowed their eyes down at them suspiciously. 

 

Dany's hair was still a mess, and her and Jon were both still in their wrinkled uniforms, wearing them like a proud badge. However their anxious expressions were slowly giving away their fearless facade.

 

Dumbledore and Professor Seaworth were in the midst of a heavy conversation, as Dany could tell by both their tones when she walked in.

 

" _Yes, but they are just as equal of a part in this, Davos-_ " Dumbledore says, cutting himself off, now aware of his new, young guests.

 

"They shouldn't be." Professor Seaworth walks away, mumbling again shortly, "Forgive me Headmaster, but I simply cannot agree with you. _It's not right._ "

 

He shuffles past Jon, Dany and Ned with a wary look of disapproval, "Good evening, Ned."

 

Then he stops to soften his clear blue eyes at the children, "Mr. Snow, Ms. Targaryen, you both played an incredible game today, congratulations." He pats their shoulders sweetly.

 

Jon and Dany both thank him, and then soon after he leaves, Dumbledore and Ned were left waiting for their attention.

 

"Well I assume you both may have somewhat of an idea what this is all about," Dumbledore says gravely.

 

Dany and Jon glance at each other swiftly, "No, Professor." Dany shakes her head, "We haven't the slightest, is it about our exams..." Jon physically has to stop himself from gawking at her overt dishonesty. "Because I know we both-"

 

"No, no, Daenerys," Dumbledore cuts her off softly. Ned folds his arms across his chest, "Yes. This is a much more serious matter."

 

"Regarding my son, Brandon. And the... experience you two shared with him in the forest."

 

Dany's shoulders fall dropping the act, knowing this was exactly what was coming. "Is he still... not doing any better?"

 

"We told you that night everything we saw." Jon adds sternly.

 

"Yes you did. But as of now..." Dumbledore looks to Dany with sympathy, "No, Bran still remains paralyzed. And in all of his years of practice, the boy has left Maester Luwin rather stumped."

 

"Yes. And unfortunately we need to know," Ned speaks lowly, "-more about the things you saw that night in the forest. How they compare to your first encounter, Jon."

 

Jon frowns at Dany as Dumbledore continues, "Yes. And we need to know now. As my time here at Hogwarts is limited." He pauses sadly, the yellow candle light flickering a haunting halo high above him.

 

"Jon. What did the creature you saw at Durmstrang look like? And I want you to be as specific as possible."

 

Jon side glances unsure at Professor Stark, "Uhm, well he was a man... with skin made of ice. And he had long white hair and bright blue eyes."

 

"And there were two more just like him far away on horseback, but I couldn't make out their faces."

 

Lacing his long bony fingers together, Dumbledore rests his hands against his bearded chin in puzzled thought. He turns to Ned, "Not the same as your son's description..."

 

"No. Are you sure he wasn't wearing a... crown," Ned asks Jon hesitantly. "And he didn't have eyes of two different colors?"

 

"I'm positive Professor. The one I saw up close I will never forget his face." Then he sighs in question, "But the others far away, I don't know. It's possible it was one of them."

 

"And... I didn't see anything like the formation the dead centaurs were in like that night either," he adds painfully.

 

"Wait... Headmaster, why did you say your time here at the school was limited?" Dany asks.

 

After a moment, Dumbledore carefully slides back his chair to stand up. He steps over gently to Fawkes, whom subconsciously Dany hadn't been able to take her eyes off of this entire time. The headmaster nudges its crimson head with his knuckle, earning a cooed caw from the pheonix. "I believe you two may have heard about some rather unfortunate news about me, spread by the unpleasant word of the Prophet."

 

Dany twists her mouth to the side, looking down. Bracing herself for what she's afraid's coming next.

 

"Word has spread that the ministry has reacted rather dramatically to my statement about... this winter coming, and the return of a certain dark wizard. You have heard about this am I correct?" Jon and Dany both nod.

 

"Well as of today, they have dubbed me unfit to manage this school. They made the decision this afternoon and announced that a more stable employee from the ministry would be now serving as Headmaster... as my replacement."

 

"-What? They can't do that?" Jon stands up strictly. "You aren't insane though? They can't do that?"

 

"No... They can, Jon." Dany remarks coolly. "But we can do something about it right?" she exhales hopefully, "Prove to them you're telling the truth? Find a loophole?"

 

Dumbledore exhales sadly, peering down at her through his half moon spectacles, "I'd like to think it was that easy Ms. Targaryen, but it is not. These people are acting out of fear. Not logic. They won't be reasoned with."

 

"And I am more than confident leaving you under the protection of Professor Stark and the other professors, until things are settled back to normal. But as of now I am ordering for you both to meet with him at least twice a week... to learn about certain things... that you will need to know for the future."

 

Dany furrows her brows at Jon hotly, then argues back in denial, "But sir, you- can't go? Who will replace you, no one is greater than you? And if... if he's from the _ministry_ he's certain to be horrible!-"

 

Ned chuckles softly, his forehead wrinkling in agreement.

 

Dumbledore smirks, "Thank you, Daenerys, but _she_ is actually a woman. It will hopefully only be for a short time."

 

"She is... Senior undersecretary to the minister. Cersei Baratheon."

 

_What?!_

 

"Joffrey's mother?" Dany squeaks.

 

"Yes, but the real problem is... that if she does remain titled as headmaster only for a short period of time, that will only be because the ministry has fatally realized that I was correct."

 

"Which will be an even worse situation," Ned says, "So we must prepare you both... for what's coming. And winter is coming."

 

Jon squints his eyes in heavy confusion, "Okay, wait, I'm sorry... But why us? There surely must be other wizards trained for this?" he chuckles lightly, " _older_ , professional aurors?"

 

"Oh, of course there are, Jon. The Order has been working hard on solution strategies for quite some time now... ever since your attack." Professor Stark voices strongly. "But it is not _them_ that this winter wants. It is not me... not Professor Dumbledore... not Bran. It is _you two_."

 

Dany slides her eyes up at Jon suspiciously.

 

"But... _why_?" 

 

Dumbledore's calm expression betrays his true emotion for the first time Dany thinks she has ever witnessed up close. Interpreting now true heartbreak behind his grey blue eyes.

 

"I believe," he let's out a huff of air, "that an old friend of mine has returned..."

 

He sits back down at his desk, touching over a ripped open letter. "I should have stopped him when I first saw the signs, but many things have changed since then. Including myself..."

 

Ned eyes him curiously. Like he was surprised he was sharing the information he was about to share... with Jon and Dany.

 

"Gellert Grindelwald has been obsessed with bringing back the Night's King since I knew him as a boy." He stops himself with a cold twitch of his lips. "I thought he was mad. Wanting to restore the world the way it was. Muggle and muggleborn free. But I never _fully_ understood the truth to his words... It all just seemed like a fairytale at the time."

 

He eyes both Jon and Dany knowingly, "And with a _great_ _portion_ of the Restricted Section missing, I'm sure you have discovered the truth behind the white walker tales by now."

 

Dany glints at Jon sheepishly. "Uhm..."

 

"However though, to the world's disbelief, I think he really has done it... He's brought him back. The King." He places a responsible hand on Jon's shoulder.

 

"And... together, I believe they both want a similar revenge... A revenge that they didn't quite get their way about the first time around. Some thing they both tried to destroy, but could _not_ -"

 

Ned motions to Dumbledore hotly. "Alright, Albus. That's enough for now."

 

"Yes... you're quite right, Ned. It's been a long day. We should all get some rest." He starts walking towards the stoned stairs, as painted eyes look down upon him sadly from their hanging portraits.

 

"And Jon, Dany, no matter what happens to me," he motions to the stairwell and then to Ned, "you are to report to Professor Stark's, do you understand me? And you must tell _no one._ "

 

"We swear, Professor." Dany nods back dependently, while Jon places a gentle hand behind her back guiding her out, "Goodbye Professor," he says.

 

"We will talk more tomorrow morning, Ned. My office..." Dumbledore whispers hoarsely, now earning a darkly curious look from Dany.

 

_What else didn't her and Jon know yet that was so important?_

 

_And why couldn't they know now?_

 

Ned responds, nodding his head in short approval, following behind the two Gryffindors under the rocked Eagle's protective wings.

 

And slowly, they then descend back down.

Dany plotting together new possible ideas each step of the way.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 


End file.
